


Burnt Sienna

by Mercyisnotasignofweakness, Shivra



Series: Colors for the Soul Series [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A New Challenger: Crim’s Arch Nemesis?, Alcoholism, Arguments, Body Worship, Both the American and European Measurements Are Equivalent Here, But they’re side characters, Cat, Cuddles, Cunnilingus, Depressed Character (US Pap), Depressive Breakdowns, Dicks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Sans Rollercoaster Ride Lets On Here, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Excessive Cursing, First Time, Fontcest, Gaaaaaaaay, Graphic descriptions of violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Marijuana Usage - Trigger Warning!, Implied animal abuse, Introducing: Miss Claws - Badass Kitty, Introducing: More reader OCs!, It is very much NOT platonic - it is full on hatred, M/M, Marijuana Use, Metric Tons of Angst, Monster Heat, Monster Illnesses, Multiverse Shenanigans, NON-TRADITIONAL Fontcest Mind You, No Brotherfucking Happening Here Carry On, OCs - Freeform, Occasional Chance of Puns, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Our Underfell Sans curses casually, Past Break-Ups, Platonic Rivalry?, Praise, Really Bad Humor, Serious Illnesses, Slow Burn, Smut, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Tendencies, TRIGGER WARNING - character with aggression issues, Tags will be added as chapters come out, Talk about falling into depression and near-death experiences - Trigger Warning!, The UCR, This is Probably Not the Blue You Were Expecting, Villain #1 currently scheming, Virgin sex, What does a skeleton need to do to get a decent cup of coffee around here?, alcohol use, basically what everyone was waiting for probably, blowjob, honeymustard - Freeform, implied animal death, just kidding, magical skeleton dicks and clits, too much kissing not to be lewd, vaginas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2018-10-29 00:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 174,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10843134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercyisnotasignofweakness/pseuds/Mercyisnotasignofweakness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shivra/pseuds/Shivra
Summary: When one accidental multiverse traveller makes the worst mistake of his life, he's greeted by a world full of familiar strangers. If Sans wants to return, he'll have to learn to deal with all of the challenges the unknown brings... as well as two other skeletons who seem to have problems of their own.~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~Update schedule: Every third Sunday. Currently on hiatus.





	1. Never Meant to Say Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This is about half a year in the making guys! We’re pretty far in, and you finally get to see what we’ve been up to! Exciting, right!? We’ve had a helluva time making this thing and we’re super ready to show you the start of what we’ve got. That being said, let’s get into the nitty gritty:
> 
> We’re gonna be adding tags as additional chapters show up so if you’re here as the ride lets on, you don’t get spoilers about what’s coming in the future. It’s nothin’ obscenely bad, but some people are sensitive to some things and we like giving at least a little warning. So! Check the new tags at the bottom of the tags list before indulging in the new chapter. We’ll also flag smut chapters in the chapter notes, so they’re skippable for people who aren’t here for that. There’ll be about three smut scenes in this story, with other questionable ventures - come for the skeletons, stay for the smut? Update schedule is roughly every 1-2 weeks for a new chapter. They’re long! It’s reasonable! (We’re not finished yet!) Fic is unbeta’d, but we’d like to think we’re pretty good at catching all of the nastier grammar/spelling errors that crop up.

## ~ Chapter One ~  
Never Meant to Say Goodbye

  _“As for those with wounded souls,_  
_if gods grant my appeal,_  
_a world may come without the need_  
_to craft a stronger shield.”_  
  
_“Shield”_ by Berry Middleton

  

* * *

He stumbles his way home through the inches of thick freshly fallen snow and the bitter, biting wind, already missing the warmth and camaraderie he’d left behind. Despite the way he’s drawn his hood around his face, the stinging cold still whips at his cheeks and eyes, and causes the downy trim surrounding his vision to lash violently. He can hardly hear the noise of his own steps crunching through the layer of slush below his boots over the banshee howl of the gusts tearing at him and threatening to topple what remains of his equilibrium. He’s only a few minutes from home - he could have walked the route blindfolded, and he might as well have been with the constant flurry of white obscuring his vision - but the trek back feels much longer than it did out.

But a little snow, he knows, is nothing compared to what lies ahead.

Sans doesn't need his powers of time/space control to know what kind of shitstorm is waiting for him just past his front door. He can almost see the tensed form of his brother sitting on the couch, back to the door and arms crossed tightly over his chest, his image the very definition of passive aggressive disappointment. He knows what words will rip from his throat the second Sans turns the handle he’s reaching out towards.

“ _Four hours_!” Sans’ sigh resembles a growl and he clenches his eyes shut for a moment. The door has barely cracked open and his brother has already started.

“I told you _four hours_ ago to return home, but instead of following a direct order what do you do? Decide to go get drunk with those meddling canines! Despite me reminding you just _yesterday_ that I wanted you to stay far away from them!”

Sans closes the door behind him and pushes his hood back to reveal a fairly aggravated expression. “Yeah well, maybe I grew tired of takin’ orders from my little brother.” He knows it’s a bad idea to talk back, but fuck it. He’s had enough. He’s tired, tipsy and just had a pretty decent night that didn’t end in either death threats or sexual offers. Sans is satisfied with his night and he just wants to shut his bro up so he can sleep. Of course, talking back at him only makes the problem much worse.

“How many times must I say that they are dangerous Sans?! They literally threatened to kill you just last week!”

“I’m dangerous too,” Sans says. “And I told you, they were joking!”

“Please, even those dirty beasts’ pups have a tougher bite than you.” Papyrus makes that wave with his hand as he always does when he’s physically trying to brush off an argument that he feels he’s already won.

Sans stares hard at Papyrus, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. He breathes deeply through the sting of anger and hurt in his chest, repeating his rehearsed pattern over and over again. When he finally feels in control enough to open his mouth without something horrible spilling out, he forces himself to straighten and relax his tensed body.

He rips his gaze from Papyrus’ face and the smug expression hiding under his anger. Papyrus has always found some sort of morbid satisfaction in always being right. As always, seeing that sort of emotion on his little brother’s face gives Sans the desire to shake him until he sees reason.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Papyrus asks the second Sans passes him. There’s a hint of disappointment in his voice, almost as if he’s sad Sans is trying to avoid letting the argument escalate.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t see the point in doing so when Papyrus is only asking out of some sort of idea that he has the right to know. Sans is the owner of the house and he can damn well go to his own room without permission from his brother if he wants to.

A magic bone swipes through the railing and crashes into the wall on his left, blocking his way and making it impossible to move further until it’s removed. Sans stands frozen on the bottom step of the staircase, looking at the obvious evidence that his brother has finally lost his damned mind. There’s a line and he just crossed it by _at least_ fifty feet.

“Did I give you permission to leave?” Papyrus ask him quietly, voice trembling with withheld emotion. “I was not done talking yet. Leaving is _very_ impolite and _disrespectful_ when standing before a superior ranking Guard.”

Normally Sans let’s stuff like this pass, ignores his brother’s arrogance because it means he’ll get some peace and quiet. Tonight it just pisses him off. He can’t stand listening to it for even one second longer. He slowly turns from the bone lodged in the wall and the splintered wood, trapping Papyrus with one of his strongest glares.

“You know what? _Fuck you,_ Papyrus,” he growls, his temper snapping clean in half.

“Excuse me?” Papyrus has the audacity to actually look affronted by Sans’ harsh words.

“Once again for the dingus in the back: _fuck you_ and _fuck_ your stupid orders! I’m sick and tired of your constant bullshit. So what if I didn’t feel like coming home early tonight? Stars forbid I wanted to hang out with my friends and get a drink instead of listening to your constant belittlement and pessimism!”

“There’s a storm rolling in!” Papyrus shouts, and pushes himself off the couch, obviously finding the argument worth his energy now. The bastard had fucking _thrown an attack at Sans_ while sitting down?! “Excuse me for trying to save your pathetic life!” There’s a slender finger jabbing in the direction of one of the barred windows, and Sans doesn’t need to look to know that Papyrus is right; it’s why he went home this early tonight. The wind has gotten much stronger outside and he can’t pretend as if it’s not ripping at the house, trying to tear the roof off. If he hadn’t come in a couple minutes ago…

But all of that doesn’t matter right now - what _does_ are his clenched fists and rising, vindictive fury. The alcohol feels like it’s boiling in his system and the heat is going straight to his head. “I made it back, didn’t I?! And if by ‘saving’ you mean you’re gonna prosecute me for my decisions at every fuckin’ turn, then yeah! Good fuckin’ job, you did that! Newsflash,” he slashes a hand across the air in front of him, “you’re not _always_ fuckin’ right!”

“Your ‘decisions’ almost got you dusted!” His brother jabs a finger against the palm of his hand for emphasis. “ _AGAIN!_ Once you gain some common sense, then maybe you can come yell at me about how right you are. But since I don’t see that happening anytime _soon_ ,” he gestures with his whole hand far too casually at Sans’ current state, and the action makes the shorter skeleton clench his teeth, “perhaps you should spend less time arguing and more time _listening_ , hm?”

“Stop fucking acting like you think you know what’s best for me!” He shouts back, and he feels his magic burning in his head and chest, eagerly awaiting to be unleashed from his fingertips. He’s shaking with his feet glued to the floor, and the sound of his furious, clothes-muffled rattling permeates the room.

“Then try growing a brain in that fat head of yours and learn how to _use it_ so that I don’t have to do it for you!” Papyrus retorts with infernal, condescending ease.

“And who are _you_ to tell _me_ what to do and how to do it, huh?” Sans scowls, and the ugly expression twists up the right side of his mouth, displaying a fair share of his pointed teeth. “You’re not my mother and you sure as hell aren’t my dad! I _raised_ you, you little ungrateful shit. How about you start showing _me_ some respect?!”

Papyrus lifts his palms up in a wide arc from his body, turning his head from side to side as if looking for the missing parental figures. “If you weren’t such a secretive prick about them, maybe I would! You know I don’t remember them and yet every time I ask you just fucking leave or change the subject, like you think I don’t notice!” He flashes an accusing palm in Sans’ direction. “How can you expect me to trust someone who lies to me all the time?! How can I respect someone like that?”

“It’s for your own good,” Sans says automatically, the red eyelights steadily smouldering in his head.

“You say that, but you still don’t accept it when I tell you the exact same thing. How is it any different when I say it?” Papyrus crosses his arms over his chest and fixes Sans with a sharp glare. “ _I_ know best, _I’m_ the strongest of us and _I_ have the respect that keeps us alive! That means you have listen to what I say and DO IT or I will have you thrown out on your ass. I refuse to continue protecting a weakling such as you who can’t even follow the simplest of orders.”

“Look at yourself!” Papyrus continues after a quick breath, gesturing to Sans’ body that’s swaying slightly on the steps. “You can’t do anything, you have _no_ skills of value. All you do is drink and get in the way! So start making yourself _useful_ for once so you don’t drag me down into the mud alongside your own reputation!” Papyrus’ words end in a low, annoyed growl, his dark tone matching the empty look in his sockets.

Sans’ eyelights flicker before disappearing completely. Cold talons wrap around the heat surrounding his soul, piercing through the heady anger. The insults are nothing new - he has heard them all before in many different scenarios - but something about Papyrus’ tone makes them stab through his soul like knives.

He lets his head drop, wishing that he hadn’t taken off his hood. It would help him keep the tears rapidly building up in his sockets hidden from his brother. Fists clenched and body tense, Sans just tries to breathe through the pain.

Papyrus lets out a deep, tired sigh. A clear sign that he is done fighting. But to Sans, it’s the confirmation of his worst fear: his brother has stopped caring about him.

He doesn’t even bother ripping the bone out of the wall when he passes Sans. Papyrus just steps over it.

Halfway up the stairs he pauses. He turns his head so his words only just pass above his shoulder. “Calling you my brother is the most humiliating thing I have to do on a daily basis.” His words are the final nail in the coffin, the last punch to Sans’ gut that makes his tears spill over. He hides them by looking away.

A blast of wind knocks against the house just as Papyrus’ words finally stop ringing in his head. It soaks through the shoddily placed wooden planks making up their house, creating a hollow, weak howl that fills the empty, silent space between Sans and his brother.

“I’ll spare you any further humiliation then.” His voice sounds dead, even to him. “Don’t wait up for me.”

He knows it’s stupid and that he shouldn’t do it, but he needs to be gone _right now_. He uses all the magic that he’s built up during their argument at once. All that magic that was supposed to help him combat the threat that had made him angry in the first place.

The second he lets go, he knows something is wrong. It feels different, and a moment of panic surfaces through the blanket of anguished shock. There’s a loud thunderclap-like bang just before he vanishes in a tight swirl of red light.

The shift is instant. As soon as the haze of crimson magic vaporizes before his eyes, he knows he fucked up. He’s somewhere he has never been before - a kaleidoscope of pastel purples, whites and cremes fill his vision - and there’s a bunch of people rushing towards him, all shouting words he can’t understand in his post-teleport confusion. He teeters on his feet and catches himself with an elbow on a nearby surface - a counter? - instinctively reaching for his magic. The effort almost makes him gag - it feels like he’s scraping out his proverbial guts to summon it -  but the sharpened end of a bone finally appears in one shaky hand. He bares his teeth at the multiple blurry figures, pointing the weapon wildly at the closest in turn.

“ _Back off,_ ” he growls, internally cursing at how his voice wavers.

There’s a flash of bright orange, a stab of pain from atop his head, and the world goes dark.

* * *

“Papy! When I told you to make some new friends, I didn’t mean “knock people unconscious and leave them on the couch”! What will the neighbors think!? You should have at least told me first so I could prepare them a proper bed! We’ve got higher standards than this!”

The distant sound of a scolding tone of voice over the white noise of a TV drags his consciousness kicking and screaming back to wakefulness. He’s groggy as hell when he finally manages to crack open one of his eyesockets a fraction to see a small, eerily familiar skeleton throwing blue-gloved hands up into the air with exasperation.

Sans is now very sure that he’d hit his head harder than he’d originally thought, or his entire night has been one prolonged fever dream that he hasn’t quite finished riding out. Either way, something is _very_ fucked if he’s imagining a shittier, _blue_ -er version of himself lecture someone off to the side he can’t quite see yet.

He begins to blearily crane his neck to look, and that’s when the pain starts. His eyes screw shut again as a flare of splitting agony rips through his skull, and he curls in on himself with a series of jerky movements. It’s at this point that he realizes there’s a light blanket over him.

With an audible groan, he does his best to disappear below the lip of the covers while using the least amount of movement possible. Obviously his stealth needs work, as it’s not long before someone notices.

“Uh, bro, I think you woke him up.”

Sans’ eyesockets fly wide open when the voice coming from just off to the side makes something in his head click. His vision takes in an extremely gaudy version of his own home before he regrets the action and squeezes his eyesockets shut again. Even the pathetic amount of light shining from a nearby table lamp is too much for him. He can feel the burning imprint of the room in the back of his skull and bile rising in the back of his throat. He’s not about to do that again for a good long fucking while.

“ _Papyrus?_ ” He forces the question around a mouthful of gravel and out through clenched teeth.

There’s a little gasp from the blue clone. “You two know each other already!?” Why won’t he stop yelling!? Sans grimaces under the blanket, trying unsuccessfully to block out the noise.

“Eh... sort of?” The voice seems uncertain. He can easily imagine the set of curious eyes boring into the top of his skull right now. It unnerves him enough to try and crack an eye open to see what’s going on. Half hidden underneath the blanket, the light isn’t as sharp as before.

“That’s great!” The other skeleton practically chirps, his voice pitching towards an obscenely high octave and eliciting another pained groan with an accompanying muffled curse from below the blanket. A low chuckle follows soon after.

“Hey bro, why don’t you go make our friend here some of my special tea? I think he needs a pick-me-up after the night he’s had.”

“Is he hurt?!” the blue clone chirps. He actually sounds like he’s genuinely worried and that just makes Sans snort softly to himself.

“I might have hit him harder than intended,” the voice answers, clearing up one of Sans’ questions. The clone huffs in annoyance and shakes his head at whoever is standing off to the side. He points an accusing finger towards the direction of the voice.

“One day you have to think before you do stuff Papy. People could get seriously hurt.” He waggles an admonishing finger in the direction of the unseen second figure. The clone then straightens before brushing some imaginary dust off his clothes and rests a fist on his chest. He puffs it out, like he’s proud. “But worry not! I will correct your mistakes and heal our new friend so he’s not angry at you!” With that little speech, the clone spins around on his heels and marches out of the room in the direction of what Sans assumes is the kitchen.

“Am I dead?” He grates out after a few seconds of relative silence with the blue skeleton gone. “Is this some fucked up version of monster hell?”

“The wallpaper isn’t _that_ bad, buddy.” The careless drawl coming from the other is starting to piss him off, but it’s still preferable to the blue one’s loudness. “Blue and yellow doesn’t necessarily scream satanic. A little eye-watering at times, maybe, but not satanic.”

“...Pastel purgatory,” he mutters.

The other chuckles at that, but this time it’s more of a breathy sound than actual laughter. “You got me there.”

A couple minutes tick by with nothing but the droning noise of the TV and Sans’ own breathing interrupting the quiet. It allows him to muster the courage to ask the important questions. “...How’d I get here?”

“You mean how you got _here_ , on our couch? Carried you,” there’s a barely perceptible sound of bone scratching against bone from the side before a weight drops down a foot or so away from his head. He flinches back instinctively and the sharp motion sparks a new pain in the base of his skull. On the plus side, he’s in a position to see the other speaker now. He cracks open his eyesocket a little wider, and a large amount of orange material assaults his vision, but it’s not nearly as bad as the waves of cigarette smoke scent rolling off this guy’s clothes. It’s by no means an unfamiliar scent to him, but the sheer thickness of it is gut-churning.

When he turns his head to follow the lazy curve of the orange hoodie upwards, he immediately stops short upon seeing the wearer’s face. His breath catches in his throat as the other skeleton’s eyesockets fixate on Sans’ slowly widening ones.

“Hey buddy,” he says with nauseating familiarity, “you, uh, kinda look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The smoke, the color, his _face._ Everything swims in his head in a whirlpool of confusion and horror. It’s too much.

Sans lurches off the couch, feeling his magic creep onto his face in what he imagines must be a sickening pale shade. He very nearly tips off his feet, but a hand latching onto the back of his jacket stops him.

“Woah, hey-” Sans interrupts him by violently brushing off the help, eyes narrowed and flashing an impressive set of pointed teeth. The not-Papyrus leans back into the couch, both palms raised in front of him in a gesture of peace.

“Chill.” One palm still up, he points with the other at a door across the room. “The bathroom’s over there.”

Sans is sure that whatever comes out next will end up all over the jagged, colorful carpeting, and despite it definitely being an improvement to the decor, he keeps it to himself. Instead, Sans turns his unpleasant expression back towards navigating; it takes almost all of his concentration.

It should surprise him more than it does that it’s in the same spot it is in his own home. He slams the door behind him and steadies himself with one hand on either side of the sink.

“What. The. _Fuck_ ,” he gasps between short sessions of heaving up half-digested streams of residual magic into the otherwise spotless white bowl. When the worst of it passes, he’s left with a stabbing pain behind his eyesockets and stars at the edge of his vision. He turns away from the mirror to lean his back against the counter. He knows without checking that he looks exactly as he feels right now: like shit. One hand steadies himself while the other presses the base of the palm into his right temple. Okay, he has to figure this shit out.

This whole scene has gone on too long for him to call it all a hallucination, and generally, hallucinations are not compounded by very real, very crippling hangovers. It’s all too elaborate to be a hoax and too physical to be an illusion, so what else could this be?

Well, one way to find out. Sans tests his magic, allowing the familiar red to expand and saturate his eyelights. Trying to ignore the way it aggravates his migraine, he watches the dusky energy spread over his gloved right hand, partially obscuring both material and fingers alike. The response is more disappointing than he’d originally hoped, but not too unsurprising, considering. It’s enough juice for one ‘port, maybe even two if they’re short range. It doesn’t come without some danger, but he _needs_ to know.

He releases the magic.

He ‘aims’ for the backyard of the house he shares with his brother, and there’s a momentary wash of relief when, in less than the blink of an eyesocket, his boots crunch against snow and his shoulderblades knock back against the familiar wood panelling.

That relief disappears when he looks up to see the brooding line of trees.

“The fuck?” Despite the soft light of Snowdin’s ‘night’, the forest is still unlogged in this particular area, obscuring the view all the way down to the river he can hear rushing in the distance. Stumps don’t scatter the ground in a series of snowmounds. Instead, there’s a picket fence with a dilapidated snowman in one corner, and a small tool shed in the other. The light from the single kitchen window shines onto the snow to his left, but something about the shadow from the windowpane is off.

Confusion seizes his soul, and then an unexplainable tension. Had he missed his destination? Somehow gone off course? It hadn’t felt like it. He slowly turns and stares up at the building he’s been leaning against. The deep red from his eyes reflect off of the wood, and casting them around, he notices a very familiar kitchen window. That’s why the shadow is fucked up, he realizes: it isn’t barred. Becoming a little desperate, he cranes his skull back further, hoping he doesn’t see what he now knows in his soul will be above him.

He stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets as they start shaking. It’s there. The window. _His_ window. Looking disbelievingly across to the right, he can see the one to his brother’s room as well. Welcoming light pours out of the former, and there are curtains drawn across the latter, but there are no bars on either.

“No,” he whispers, breath hitching. His fingers clench at the inner material of his jacket pockets.

“No what?” Sans whirls to find the imposter from earlier leaning casually against the back of the house, one heel of his untied sneakers resting against the wood. Anxiety converts into anger fast enough to give a normal monster whiplash, but Sans welcomes the distraction from the growing pit of realization in his stomach.

“Th’fuck are you doing out here?”

Honestly, Sans isn’t sure what he’s more pissed about: the fact that this guy managed to sneak up on him… or that he is now being completely ignored in favor of the taller skeleton’s attempt at lighting a cigarette.

“Smoking,” the other says, and pointedly takes a long drag from the now-lit stick. “I kinda live here and all, and Sans gets cross when I do it inside.”

“Sans?” He repeats his own name slowly.

“Yeah, my lil’ bro,” he confirms, jerking the hand with the cigarette to the side to indicate the house. “You saw him inside.”

“Inside,” he repeats, red eyelights hovering on the other’s face. The other skeleton is surprisingly difficult to read, but he doesn’t think he can detect any bullshit in the expression. Fuck, so he was right. “And that must make you _Papyrus_ ,” he says with a biting edge of sarcasm.

“Yeah, last time I checked.”

Sans laughs humorlessly. “That had better be a fucking joke. You’re an orange windsock, _not_ my brother.”

“Gotta say, I haven’t heard that one before.”

The imposter takes another long drag of his cigarette. Sans doesn’t know if it’s on purpose, but the fucker is smiling when he lets out the plume that quickly grows to the size of Sans’ upper body.

“You have humor,” the orange copy comments.

“So? What’s it to you?” Not-Papyrus offers Sans a half-shrug before glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

“Nothin’. Just saying. There’s not many of our kind around here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My bro and I are the only two skeletons I know of,” he explains with the same nonplussed expression, “and I’ve, uh, been around. I dunno what rock you’ve been hiding under, ‘cuz I’m pretty sure I checked ‘em all.”

“Yeah, well,” the tension in Sans’ soul draws tunt, “maybe I’m not from around here.” An understatement, he knows now. Now that he’s gotten a good look at ‘Papyrus’, he can see the many differences around the other’s facial structure. He’s smoother; _softer_ somehow, and the shadows surrounding his eyesockets are deeper and more pronounced than his brother’s. The lack of eyelights combined with the sharp lighting from the cigarette makes the fraud eerie and uncomfortable to look at, but Sans is too nervous to simply turn away.

“I kinda figured that out when I found you at Muffet’s, buddy.”

“Oh yeah? Well, speakin’ of.” He draws a hand from his jacket and pointedly taps near a sore area atop his skull, never taking his eyes off of the phony. “Thanks for that, prick.”

“Well, uh, you didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk.”

Something about the way he says it strikes Sans as absurd. As if it was an option. He can’t help it: he laughs in the face of the crude imitation, who regards him in return with a raised browbone. He honestly doesn’t care if the other thinks he’s crazy. Fuck, how many times has he doubted his _own_ mind since he woke up here? The thought makes him laugh harder. He finally manages a “Fuck you, it’s funny” after a double handful of seconds. The stars on the edge of his vision have returned with a vengeance, and a persistent ringing has sprung up in his hearing.

“Care to let a pal in on the joke? Sounds like a good one.”

Sans is about to cheerfully tell him to fuck off, but halfway through opening his mouth, he thinks better of it. What does he really have to lose at this point? With an exaggerated shrug, a lazy smirk curls up the right side of his face, belying the amount of pain he’s in, and he leans a shoulder against the house for support.

“Sure, why the fuck not? I purposefully left where I’m from ‘cuz I fucked up. I fucked up my own life, I fucked up my bro’s life, and I fucked up trying to fix it.” He chuckles again, and shakes his head ever so slightly. “The rule of fuckups is that they don’t cancel out, see? The punchline is that when I tried to leave... I actually fuckin’ did it.” The smirk wavers for a moment, and Sans sighs through his teeth.

The other leaning skeleton regards him somberly as he takes another drawn-out drag on his cigarette. Silence hangs in the air between them for a few seconds before he looks away again, turning his oddly empty eyesockets towards the unseen, distant river. “Hm. You plan on going back?”

The anger returns instantly, and he welcomes it as a distraction from his headache and predicament. “What kind of fucking question is _that_ ? Of course I fucking am! I’m not staying in your shitty _Everett world_ for any longer than I have to.”

The words “Everett world” seem to draw a spark of amusement from the other, as his grin from earlier makes a partial return. “‘Kay. You got a plan?” He shifts his weight against the house and regards Sans with that disturbingly hollow expression.

He can’t explain it, but there’s something _off_ about this Papyrus. His own brother is not a fucking angel, not at all, but at least he feels _real_. Alive. When Sans again lets his eyelights move over the form of the imposter, he’s struck with the same eerie, dark feeling as he was initially. It feels like a barrage of arrows hitting his soul in rapid succession. It’s taken him this long to put a name to this feeling of unease when the copy is around, but when he does, his expression goes rigid.

Hiding under that scent of smoke and air of laziness, for whatever reason, is an aura close to _death_ . The air around him cries with the loss of hope, the feeling so potent and gut-wrenching that it creates a void-like atmosphere. Sans can almost feel his own magic - whatever pathetically small pool there’s left inside him after his teleports - be sucked into the black hole of misery that surrounds this guy. The feeling is foreign and terrifying; never has he seen it this bad before. Even though his life is far from perfect and far from happy, Sans _never_ lost hope like this. He’s always kept fighting.

Sans takes a step away from the Papyrus - this pale apparition - feeling the need to put a distance between them like a needle boring into his sternum. He pulls his shoulders up around his neck in an attempt to get the dread of doom crawling on his back to vanish. He stuffs his hands deep in his pockets and clenches his fingers around the thick fur inside them. He’s suddenly shaking, feeling like his bones are freezing solid. His soul uselessly tries to pulsate a burst of warmth through his body, but with how little magic he has left, it doesn’t do much good. He needs to get inside.

“Just need to get my magic re-charged and I’m outta here,” he mutters as an answer, mostly to himself to make his decision real, make _himself_ real. Hearing his own voice grounds him even though it’s starting to feel like he’s floating aimlessly through the void. “No way in _hell_ I’m staying. This place might actually be fucking _worse_ than my world, jeez.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Looks like Sans struck a nerve somewhere. The copy shifts, turning more towards him. He has noticed how Sans is slowly inching away.

“Means that whatever the hell managed to make you feel like _that_ , it’s bad enough that even _I’m_ not stupid enough to mess with it. Hell no. I’d take the risk of getting dusted by my bro any day over this.” He’s exaggerating; Papyrus wouldn’t actually _dust_ him for being useless, Sans is almost sure. The worst thing he would do is throw him out of the house, which yeah, sure, it’s pretty much going to end the same way, but still. Papyrus probably wouldn’t kill him. His bro just... has a big mouth sometimes.

The silence that follows his words is enough for Sans to start shaking a little. He tries to pretend he’s ignoring the other skeleton but he’s watching him closely from the corner of his eye. The orange Papyrus is still and unmoving, one hand holding the cigarette to his mouth, but he’s not taking a drag or anything. He’s just frozen.

After what feels like a decade, the clone finally moves. He throws the unfinished cigarette on the ground and doesn’t bother to stomp it out like the few other butts Sans can see on the snow. He doesn’t even pick it up and put it in the ashtray standing empty and abandoned on the little ledge next to them.

“Whatever works for you, pal,” he finally says. Sans ducks his head a little. His voice sounds like something coming straight from the grave. Dead doesn’t even begin to describe it. “Better get inside before Sans comes looking for us.”

Sans turns around to tell him something derisive, but the words get stuck in his throat in the face of the empty look the imitation is giving him. A moment later, the false Papyrus vanishes in a quick flash of orange.


	2. A Whole New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! We really appreciated all the comments you all left on the first chapter and hope you continue to enjoy the story! <3  
>  
> 
> Find us on tumblr if you wanna chat!  
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~

## ~ Chapter Two ~  
A Whole New World

 

_“But metaphors help eliminate what separates you and me.”_

Quote from _"_ _[ Kafka on the Shore" ](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/6191072) , _ a book by [Haruki Murakami](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3354.Haruki_Murakami)

* * *

He stands outside for a while longer, trying to shake the cold still trapped inside his chest, but the frozen landscape around him starts to eat at his bones instead. He debates for a moment before deciding against teleporting a second time. The orange windsock already knows about it, and Sans would rather skip the act if he can so he doesn’t risk passing out wherever he ends up.

Instead he lets out a sigh, feeling the strain of exhaustion in his body. The silence stretches around him for a few moments longer while he just breathes.

His boots crunch loudly when he makes his way around the side of the house, and the sound is absolutely grating to his hangover-induced hearing. He keeps on going though, nuzzling his face into the soft fur of the hood lying protectively around his neck. He looks around himself, glancing at his surroundings from the corner of his eye, an unconscious action bred from too many years of needing to watch his back at all times. He finds nothing hiding in the shadows, but that only serves to make him even more nervous.

When he reaches the front door, he hesitates at the sight of it. He’s so used to seeing the heavy reinforced metal plates covering it and the large handwritten sign next to it telling strangers to “fuck off if they don’t have a good reason to be on the front porch”. That small thing missing makes Sans’ soul clench in guilt. His brother wrote that sign and the glaringly empty spot where it used to hang just makes the truth that much more obvious: this is not Sans’ world.

His guilt intensifies tenfold when he realizes that he’s stuck here. He has no idea how to get home - well, he has a _vague_ idea, of course, but he won’t be able to teleport with that much power again for several weeks - and that means he has no way of letting his brother know he’s not dead. The way he left will surely make Papyrus go insane with worry, especially when Sans fails to come back home within a day. It’s not the first time Sans has left like that, and it’s not the first time he has stayed away for more than what Papyrus thinks he can handle by himself. But it _is_ the first time he will not be able to return for several weeks. Sans can’t even begin to imagine what Papyrus will end up thinking. It’s almost too much to bear in his current state.

With a resolute shake of his head, he pulls himself together and decides to head inside and deal with whatever awaits him in there instead. Panicking over his own stupid mistakes and things he can’t fix isn’t going to do him any good right now. There’s plenty of other things he needs to handle in the present before he can find a corner to break down in.

When he tries the handle, he’s slightly surprised to find that it’s unlocked. Almost the second he enters the house, there’s a call from the kitchen. He can hear some sort of music playing softly in there over the sounds of someone cooking with great enthusiasm. Whatever it is would smell surprisingly good if he couldn’t still taste the magical residue in the back of his mouth.

A wooden spoon attached to a blue glove appears from around the corner of the kitchen doorway, beckoning him in. “I was wondering when you were coming back in!” The doppelganger’s voice is just as chirpy and aggravating as it was earlier. “I grabbed a chair from upstairs so you can join us both for dinner!”

Sans stuffs the hand he used to close the door back into his jacket pocket as he debates his options. He hovers uncertainly by the door, his mind occupied by an internal conflict. After a few seconds, he silences his head with a quick shrug and the thought of “fuck it, why not” before he makes his way towards the source of the delicious scent coming from the kitchen. His eyelights sweep the room as he leans against the doorframe. He doesn’t want to enter just yet, feeling more comfortable watching the situation before him from a safe distance.

Unlike the living room, the kitchen is tiled and well-furnished. There is a number of hanging pots and pans, numerous cabinets, an “L” shape of countertops, a fridge littered with small, magnetized objects and letters, and a working stove. A wooden table dominates the far left of the room, along with three chairs. The first two are similar in appearance, but the third chair has a slightly raised seat and is carved into a distinctly different design. On the right, the stove is lit and his blue copy is busily stirring a pot. He’s humming and swaying his hips to the tune of the unfamiliar music spilling out of a small set of speakers nestled in a back corner of the countertops.

From the back, his clone looks so much more unassuming than the brief glance he’d gotten earlier. He’s clothed in soft greys and baby blues from his neck down to his socks. All but the neckerchief he’s wearing, of course. It’s saturated in a rainbow of pastel, tie-dye colors and embroidered with a number of sewn-in white swirls. He doesn’t exactly scream ‘dangerous’, unless of course the term is applied to his fashion sense.

He’s able to skulk in the doorway for good minute before the knockoff notices him. The pot is abandoned fairly abruptly in favor of something sitting on a nearby counter.

“Oh hey, there you are! Here!” A moment later, a steaming cup is pressed into his hands by an uncomfortably close, smiling face. “Go sit down and drink this. It will help with the headache,” his blue clone says. He has finally lowered his voice to a more manageable volume and Sans is grateful for it.

The cheerful impersonator hops right back to attend to his cooking, leaving Sans somewhat dumbfounded at his new acquisition. It definitely smells like tea, but there’s something off about the color. He doesn’t remember tea being so… yellow.

“Dinner will be ready in about… mmm! Probably ten minutes or so,” the imitation continues, seemingly heedless of Sans’ confusion.

He decides to sit at the kitchen table instead of return to the living room. Right now the atmosphere in the kitchen, the life and warmth surrounding his clone is favorable compared to the risk of being around the other Papyrus again. Already at the first sip of the liquid - the wateriness of it _definitely_ screams tea to him - Sans feels his bones slowly start de-freezing again. The pulsating headache is soothed and he looks at the cup in surprise. What is this?

He counts himself lucky that the other skeleton is focused on his food instead of Sans himself. He’s humming a bit as he moves about in the kitchen. Everything he does looks so effortless, like it’s all some usual routine. He’s obviously done it many times before, and the scent of food swirling in the air actually manages to make Sans hungry.

The now empty cup is plucked from his hands suddenly by the smiling copy. “Feel better?” he asks. Sans barely has to nod before he moves back to the countertop and washes the cup in the sink that’s already full of other dirty dishes.

“Papy! Breakfast is ready!” the blue skeleton calls loudly. Sans only winces a bit this time, and solely because of the volume. The pain in his head is pleasantly dull. That tea works miracles.

The other him sighs deeply when there’s no response and shakes his head, like he’s giving up. He takes a few moments to dry his hands before he starts serving the food. Sans sniffs the plate that gets placed in front of him. The scent of rich butter and fried eggs greet him, making his soul rumble in hunger. The sudden pang in his gut reminds him just how low on magic he is and he digs in almost instantly.

The food on his plate is far from a five star feast, but even with the slightly burned edge, it sure tastes like it. The eggs are cooked with some type of root vegetable into an omelet and wrapped around more vegetables he can’t name. Normally he wouldn’t touch food he can’t recognize, but it’s all coated in a layer of cheese that proves completely impossible to ignore.

The other Sans apparently finds the groans spilling from his mouth while he eats funny, because he giggles softly when he sits down with his own plate.

“You sound like you have never had food before,” he comments in a soft-spoken manner.

“Not food like this,” Sans replies before stuffing his mouth with another huge bite. “No idea what the lumps are, but it’s great.”

“It’s [ rutabaga ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rutabaga),” the other says easily. He doesn’t comment on Sans’ manners or the fact that he’s talking while trying to chew, but Sans doesn’t miss the flash of disgust flickering over the other skeleton’s face. “It’s basically a turnip, but not quite. We had trouble getting turnips to grow down here. They’re more sensitive to the low light levels we have, but not rutabaga. It’s a bit more tough and bitter, but it’s almost as good as the real thing!” Sans finds himself wondering if this guy ever takes a breath when he talks, because he sure as fuck can’t tell. “It’s rich in vitamin C like the turnip too. Helps us stay strong and healthy.”

“ _Fascinating_ ,” Sans comments. He doesn’t hide the sharp edge of sarcasm in his voice, nor the eyeroll following soon after.

The other skeleton doesn’t say anything else. He stays focused on his food and keeps a constant frown on his face.

The silence grows so thick between them that Sans can’t stand sitting in it any longer.

“So what should I call ya, kid?” The frown is now directed straight at Sans, making him feel even more uncomfortable.

“I’m not a child,” the other one says, and for the first time, Sans can detect aggravation in his tone. “I’m just vertically challenged.” The way the other lifts his chin ever so slightly makes Sans snort.

“That’s one way to put it,” he says. “Still doesn’t help in the name department... unless you want to be called Shorty, ‘course.”

“My name is _Sans_ ,” says the other, obviously unamused. “I thought that was rather obvious.” He gestures between them emphatically.

“Well, that’s kinda the problem, see,” he drawls with amusement at the weak insult. “Can’t both walk around being Sans. So,” he says, “you got some kinda nickname I can use?”

Small creases fold into existence above the copy’s nasal cavity. “Why do I have to be the one using a nickname?”

“‘Cause you’re the nickname _type_ ,” Sans answers without missing a beat.

“It’s only fair if both of us use one,” he says stubbornly. “It’s just as weird calling you Sans for me as it is calling me Sans for you.”

“ _Fine_ ,” he sighs, relenting since he knows the copy probably has a point. “Whatever. But I’m not dealing with anything _cute_ ,” he warns. “‘Sansy’ is off the table.” The other Sans makes a grimace, like the thought of someone calling him Sansy leaves a horrible taste in his mouth as well.

“Agreed. It should be something short and easy to remember…” He makes a soft humming noise while he chews the last bite of his food. The way his enlarged blue eyelights scan Sans’ body makes his spine crawl and forces him to suppress a shudder.

“Red?” he finally offers. He points to Sans’ eyes when the only response he gets is a raised brow bone. “Your magic is red,” the clone explains. “It’s short and easy to remember. I just have to look at you. Although you might want to turn it off when you go out. We don’t do that here. It’s kinda threatening and not polite when you’re around other people. Besides, it must be super exhausting to have it turned on like that all the time.”

“You would know.” He snorts quietly before muttering, “Weird ass place.” It’s not, really. It’s the reason he constantly lets his eyes burn with magic. Back home it’s a necessity. He has to be ready to cast his magic if he’s attacked, and the easiest way to always be ready is to always have his magic activated. He barely even spares it a thought anymore. It’s just always there, buzzing through his bones.

“People are used to me doing it,” he shrugs, like it’s a simple fact of life. “They know it’s for my endurance training. Plus, mine is cute. Yours is just… scary.”

“Yeah well, didn’t you hear about the cuteness quota? We can’t all walk around with stars in our eyes. It’ll be too much for the other monsters to handle,” Sans returns with an edge of venom in his voice. He doesn’t like the tone the other guy is giving him. It sounds a little too much like _judgement_ and Sans is sick and tired of other people commenting on his life choices.

Instead of letting the conversation escalate into an argument he can clearly see brewing in the other Sans, he closes his eyes and focuses, which seems to placate the other. For a few moments, nothing happens and he grunts in irritation. “How do you - oh right.”

It’s been so long since he let his magic rest that losing the buzz in his body feels _wrong_. It’s still there, but just focused around his soul now. It’s strange not feeling it at the tips of his fingers and when he looks up he has to adjust to the slightly different vision. The permanent red aura he’s so used to ignoring on the edge of his vision is now gone, letting him see things in the peripherals that he never really could before. It was a sacrifice he had to make in order to gain a few valuable seconds. Now he almost regrets his choice, since it feels like the world just became bigger.

“Better,” the other him comments. “Now you won’t scare the children.”

He resists the obvious attempt at angering him and instead changes the subject back to the nicknames. “If you’re gonna name me after my magic, at least call it what it is. Red is just fucking stupid.”

“Hmm, okay.” Little ridges appear on the other’s brow as his face scrunches up in concentration. “Hm… How about Scarlet?” Sans’ face twists in a grimace.

“Fuck no,” he says in a deadpan voice.

“Maroon? Cherry? Ruby?”

“Are you trying to give me a girl name on purpose?” he asks.

“I’m just listing the possibilities for you,” he answers, and it’s only the defensive note in his voice that saves him from being snapped at. There’s a brief silence.

“Crimson?” the other him finally suggests, lifting a brow bone.

“Heh, Crim- _Sans_ ,” Sans corrects with dry amusement. He can work with that. “Sure, whatever. Crim is fine. So, should I call you _Powder_?”

“Nope, Blue is just fine.” He sends him a shit-eating grin. “I’m not picky like _some_ people.”

 _Crim_ has to remind himself that throwing a bone in his host’s face is a bad idea.

* * *

A handful of minutes later they have relocated to the couch in the living room. The TV is showing some music program that he’s ignoring, but Blue seems quite interested in. So interested, in fact, that the cup of tea he’s holding between his hands will probably go cold before he remembers that he has it.

Crim doesn’t forget about his own freshly poured, half-empty mug. Even if this tea - a different kind than the one he drank before, now with a somewhat bitter aftertaste - is weaker than even the shittiest coffee he’s ever drank in his life, it’s still slightly better than nothing for keeping him awake. After sating his hunger, the exhaustion from overusing his magic has set in again, and his eye sockets itch with the need for a nap. But, he just can’t let himself fall asleep here again. It’s too open, too unfamiliar despite everything looking so close to his own home. The similarities fill him with a hum of unease, makes him hate how close to his own home it looks. Everything is so close to being the same, and it’s that “ _almost_ ” that makes his non-existent skin crawl with the eeriness of it all.

The silence starts bugging him again, so he decides to break it. “So, can you teleport too?” His grumbling question manages to rip Blue’s gaze from the screen to land heavily on Crim instead.

“What? No, of course not. Why do you ask?” Crim shrugs.

“No reason. Just curious.” He’s giving Blue a glance out of the corner of his newly expanded peripheral vision. “I figured, since I got the ‘porting powers, you might have them too, since you’re my clone and all that. But then your bro vanished on me earlier. Pretty easy to figure out he can do it. So I wondered if both of you got ‘em, or if he was just the lucky one.”

“Oh Papy got that from our moth- wait, _he did what?!_ ”

“He ‘ported from the backyard,” Crim says, nodding towards it. “Didn’t believe my own eyes at first. No wonder the guy could sneak up on me.”

Suddenly Blue springs to life, his body shooting out of the couch. The cup is quickly abandoned on the table. “I’m sorry, but I have to go check on him,” Blue says, talking in a rush. “Please make yourself at home! I’ll return shortly.” With that, he takes off towards the stairs, taking them two at the time despite his short legs. Crim watches, impressed, but it turns into an amused snort when Blue wrenches the door into what Crim assumes is not-Papyrus’ bedroom wide open and leaves it like that. These idiots are either completely naive or too trusting. Maybe even both. Maybe Blue doesn’t think Crim can hear them, even though there’s such a short distance from the couch to the doorway.

“Brother…” The word is spoken way too softly. It’s followed by a deep, tired sigh, one that makes it obvious the guy knows what is coming.

“Papy, you know you shouldn’t use those powers! They take too much of your magic. I know it seems like walking is harder, but it’s really not.”

“I know, bro,” replies a monotone voice that undoubtedly belongs to that emotionless void of a Papyrus.

“Then why did you do it?” Blue’s voice holds soft exasperation.

“Don’t know. Guess I forgot.”

“Are you feeling ill?” Crim can hear the note of concern even over the singing of the TV robot. He imagines Blue reaching out to touch his brother’s forehead, like a worried mother hen. His voice sure sounds like that is something he would do.

“Nah, just tired.” It’s dismissive. Disinterested… and still disturbingly hollow.

“Papy…” It’s a threatening tone, like the one a mother would use against a child that is obviously being dishonest.

“I’m fine, Sans. Just feel a bit shaky.”

“Is the nausea back?” The worry slips back into Blue’s voice.

“No.”

“I’ll heat up some soup for you anyway before I leave for work. I know you won’t feel hungry, but you need to recharge so you don’t get sick again.”

“I know, bro,” he repeats in the same, inflectionless voice. There’s a moment of silence.

“Just get some sleep, brother. I will take care of our guest.”

“You gotta be careful around him, Sans,” the orange clone says, and for the first time since he’d arrived, Crim can hear something other than that awful dullness in his voice: blatant mistrust. Maybe he’s not a stupid as he looks after all. “His LV is-”

“I know Papy,” Blue says, interrupting him. “But I’m sure there’s a good reason for it to be that high,” Blue says. Crim’s eyes narrow at the darkness of the open doorway. How did they both know? When did they both Judge him? How can _both_ of them even do that? “He looks like he’s been through a lot.”

“Yeah, a lot of fights,” not-Papyrus says harshly. His voice is far from gentle.

“I don’t think his home is as nice as ours. The way he acts… He could barely pull his magic back. It’s almost like he’s used to always having it activated.”

“You figured out he’s not from our world.” Crim’s unsure, but he thinks he catches a note of surprise in the copy’s voice.

“I remember Father teaching us about other worlds a long time ago. I don’t remember much, but I remember enough to know he’s not from around here. Even the people from the Capital seem nicer than him.”

“Heh, I knew you got his bright head, bro.”

“Well, you got Mother’s humor, so it’s only fair.” The laugh sounding from the room is stale in a way that makes Crim’s spine itch. His soul twists uncomfortably.

He decides to stop eavesdropping, certain that there is nothing to fear from the two clones... at least for now.


	3. The Three Deaths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had this stream on New Year’s Eve where we played Jackbox 3 with a bunch of cool peeps. There was this one special person called Rent.... And Rent kicked our asses in Trivia Murder Party. They kicked our asses so good, we just had to do something. So here's a tribute to Rent and a message: We'll get our revenge in October. ;) 
> 
> Thanks again for all the awesome comments you guys leave for us! You have no idea how much it means and how happy we are that you're enjoying our story. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Find us on tumblr if you wanna chat!  
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~

## ~ Chapter Three ~  
The Three Deaths

 

 _“There are three deaths._  
_The first is when the body ceases to function._  
_The second is when the body is consigned to the grave._  
_The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is spoken for the last time.”_

 _[“Forty Tales from the Afterlives](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/5014561)[”](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2883386.David_Eagleman)_ by [David Eagleman](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2883386.David_Eagleman) 

* * *

When Blue returns to the living room, his smile is a bit tense. The facade Blue is trying to keep up - the illusion - is so blatantly obvious that it’s almost painful to watch. It would be so easy to mention it and make it drop completely, but Crim can’t muster up the energy. So, instead, he just semi-glares at Blue as he walks closer and eventually turns off the television.

“He’s sleeping no-”

“What’s wrong with him?” Crim interrupts. Listening to whatever bullshit Blue is about to feed him is on the very bottom of the list of things he wants to hear right now.

“Nothing is wrong. He’s just tired.”

“Bullshit,” he says, eyes narrowed. “You can’t fool me to think you don’t feel it too. The guy is as close to Falling Down as you get.”

“He’s _not_! I’m making sure of it!” Blue snaps, gesturing wildly with one hand. His sockets widen, magic eyelights bursting back into life with even more explosive color than before. “ _And_ ,” he says, his voice cracking on a high note, “it’s none of your business!” Crim raises his hands in a placid gesture, like he’d seen the orange copy do earlier. Looks like he hit a sore spot and he’s not in any way capable of handling that kind of crazy right now. Not to mention, he also has no desire to do so.

“Besides, eavesdropping is rude,” Blue says, relaxing his stand, like his temper is soothed by the speed at which Crim backs off.

“Yeah? Well so is Judging someone’s soul, and even then I’d say we weren’t quite fucking even.” Blue’s gaze flicks to the floor, a burning blue blush appearing on his face.

“It just sort of happened…”

“Is that so? What, you just _accidentally_ invaded my privacy?” Crim asks, rudely cutting him off. “We both know that’s utter bullshit. That kinda magic don’t just _accidentally_ happen. It’s too fucking difficult to do it deliberately for it to happen on accident. So why?”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt…” Blue looks up quickly. The way he says it, so open and honestly, makes Crim’s anger flicker out a bit. Confusion takes it’s place right away.

“What?” he asks.

“Papy said you were acting strange, and he hit you. If you were hurt I would have healed you, but… When I saw how low your hp is...”

“Well, if you had fucking waited ‘til I was conscious, I could have told you it wasn’t necessary to check it,” Crim says.

“I didn’t know…”

“Spare me. What’s done is done. Nothin’ to do about it,” Crim cuts him off. He wants nothing more than to rip into him and shout about the injustice done to him. It would be _so_ satisfying to let off a little steam that way, make himself feel better, but he knows himself too well. It wouldn’t do much good in the long run. It’d be like putting a band-aid on a broken limb: it doesn’t help it heal.

Crim glares at the cup in his hands, channeling all his anger into it so it doesn’t accidentally spill all over the place. It’s just so… so _wrong_ . Poking around in someone else’s soul is the one thing that even the shitty monsters in his universe won’t do. Sure, he’s the only one in his world with Judging abilities, but soul touches are still a big no go if it’s not between mated couples. It’s _that wrong_ and this guy is just _standing there_ , acting like he wasn’t just called out on violating Crim. Like it doesn’t _matter.  
_

Blue shifts, moving forward a bit. Crim knows something shitty is coming his way, can hear it in the way Blue breathes in a little deeper than normal. “I have to go to work,” Blue announces. The way it’s said, with that unspoken question dangling between them like some sort of sad peace offering, scratches at Crim’s rapidly deteriorating capacity to deal with the situation. He swallows the desire to sigh long and loud, and settles for a quick eye roll instead.

“Well don’t let me stop ya,” he grumbles, keeping his gaze locked on his own hands. His sockets itch with the need for sleep, making it difficult to keep them open.

“I was thinking…” Blue hesitates, obviously baiting him. Crim bites, just because he wants this conversation over with so he can sleep.

“What?” he snaps. Blue starts at the harshness in Crim’s voice, making the corner of Crim’s mouth twitch.

“You could come with me,” Blue finally suggests after a short pause. “I could show you around.”

“Show me around my own town? Brilliant idea.” Crim finally shifts his gaze to the other skeleton and lifts a brow bone at him. Blue shifts the weight on his feet before shrugging with one shoulder and nodding to the front door.

“Maybe it’s different? We won’t know until you’ve seen it, right?” The tiny tremor in his voice pokes at Crim’s curiosity. He catches Blue’s eyelights flickering again. It’s almost too fast to notice, but the worry behind their swift dash to the side, looking towards the bedroom he just left before they return to Crim again is easy to decipher.

“I ain’t gonna do anything to your bro,” Crim tells him.

“I didn’t say you would!”

“Your face said plenty.” Crim sighs. “Look, just show me what corner to crash in and I’ll stay outta your hair.” He allows himself a few seconds to chuckle at his own joke. As an afterthought, he decides to add, “And don’t worry about the other guy. No way in hell I’m going anywhere near him again. I _like_ bein’ happy.”

“But-”

“What?” His voice regains the bite when irritation pokes his soul again. Blue shifts around again.

“Papy doesn’t handle change well,” Blue tries. Crim sees the signs of deception instantly. It’s like this guy doesn’t even try to hide it. Blue’s blowing smoke out his ass and doing a poor job of it. It seems like Blue realizes that Crim isn’t buying his shit, because he suddenly changes tactics. “Besides, it would give us an opportunity to get to know each other!”

“Who says I wanna get to know you?”

“It’s _polite_ ,” Blue says with a sudden intensity in his voice, “to spend time with your host.” Crim stares at him for a moment, taken aback. After the moment passes he just sighs deeply, deciding to give up. He better play nice for now, or he’s gonna be out of a place to stay. He doesn’t feel like sleeping in the snow tonight.

 _“Fine,”_ Crim finally relents. When he stands from the couch the smile on Blue’s face returns full force.

“Excellent! I’m sure we’ll have a ton of fun!” There’s a twinkle in his eye and his smile grows bigger. “A skele- _ton_.” He only just barely delivers the joke before he’s giggling to himself, proud of what he accomplished. When he walks into the kitchen, Crim looks after him. It was a shitty pun, but those are the best kind.

Maybe this guy isn’t so bad after all.

* * *

The Snowdin cave is still enclosed in twilight when Crim follows Blue out of the house. The air is icy cold, stinging his cheeks when he looks up, letting his face slide free of the protective barrier of fur trim around the edges of his hood. The ceiling crystals are barely visible above him, a sight as familiar to him as his own reflection. However, they are not the reason for the golden light bathing the snow covered road in the street he can see from the corner of his eyes. It’s emanating from a small metal lantern dangling from a snow sculpture resembling a dog.

Blue is already halfway through the town when Crim turns to find him. He spots the other skeleton in the middle of gesturing to a hunched over dog-like monster in plaid flannel a little further down the road. The monster issues a surprisingly high-pitched bark of greeting before returning to patting snow down around a metal pole, its tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth in renewed concentration. The half-finished effort looks suspiciously similar to the previous dog-shaped sculpture.

A much _larger_ dog monster in bulky, plaid-dyed leathers is busily shovelling snow off of the main road and away from the storefronts. Crim finally catches up to Blue as he repeats the gesture at the other monster. His eyelights dart between the gesture and the fairly intimidating-looking dog with unease.

“Hey GD!”

When Blue calls out to him, the dog’s ears immediately perk and the loud, reverberating woof from the monster further unnerves Crim. But it’s only when the monster’s head jumps out of its body that his magic flares to life, lighting up the dual-rings of magic in his eyes. They’re dim and weak, reflecting his poor magic reserves, but he still has enough juice-

He pauses as he realizes the monster’s head is… actually the monster. Armor left behind and now on four legs, it bounds playfully up to Blue and jumps straight into his arms. Crim can only stare in utter bewilderment from his rigid stance as the squirming canine pants and excitedly licks at Blue’s face. The other skeleton laughs and hugs the now-little dog monster tightly to his chest so as not to drop him.

After a few more seconds of silent confusion, Blue seems to remember that he exists and the two turn to him, one yipping with excitement and the other giving him a very pointed look.

“No GD, I don’t think he wants kisses today.”

With another happy yip and a parting lick, GD jumps out of Blue’s arms and scampers back towards his armor.

“I bet Doggo’s already up and slogging through a bunch of snow,” Blue calls after the dog monster as he wipes off his chin on a portion of his sleeve. “You should probably shovel the storefront before you finish the road, okay?” The answering yip sounds agreeable enough, and with that, Blue turns back to Crim, giving him an elbow in the ribs and pointing at his eyes with his other hand.

Crim rolls his eyelights, trying to play off how fucking bizarre that whole scene was to him, but he pulls back his magic regardless. It’s easier the second time, his eyelights dipping back into a neutral white that has Blue nodding in approval.

Wordlessly, Crim keeps pace with Blue’s jaunty step as they keep walking through the town. He can’t help himself from marvelling at the wholeness of the buildings and the sounds of placid, early-morning chatter from the monsters that occupy them. He finds himself focusing on the architecture of the place, and he can’t spot a single barred window, a hastily reinforced wall, a plated door, or hell, even a double-lock. What the fuck is wrong with these people? Do they _want_ to be robbed?

Despite the queerness of it all, Crim keeps his mouth shut, but is decreasingly surprised when Blue takes time to greet every passerby individually. Crim tunes most of the pointless jabbering out in favor of taking in the scenery with fidgety eyelights, but he’s brought back to the here and now by a name Blue had mentioned earlier.

“Morning Doggo!”

“Yeah, it’s that,” comes the gripey, rough voice from a shirt-garbed, black and white dog monster. He’s up to his waist in fresh snow that had fallen from the roof of his storefront as he pauses amidst hip-checking a narrow path to the door. “What’s up, Sans?” He squints in their direction, looking between them for a moment before sniffing in confusion. He ends up eyeballing Crim in a decidedly curious fashion before he turns back to his task.

“No brother today?” Doggo says as he flips the gracefully carved ‘Closed’ sign on the door over to reveal to a much more ragged ‘We Open, Yo’ scratched on the opposite side and unlocks it.

Blue offers a strained smile that the dog monster doesn’t even acknowledge as he wipes his paws on the welcome mat just inside the doorway. “Not today! He’s still sleeping, the lazybones. Anyway, Greater Dog should be by in a few minutes to help you clear the front.”

“Mmn, thanks,” is Doggo’s supremely engaging reply. He taps a claw on the door for a second before turning back around, face still scrunched up into a squint. “You gonna stop by later? We had a shipment from Waterfall yesterday and it’s all still fresh. Parsnips half off ‘n stuff.”

“Uhm,” Blue says uncertainly, his eyelights flicking to Crim before quickly returning to Doggo. “Maybe not later, but definitely tomorrow.”

“Cool. Hey, new guy,” he says, and Crim realizes that the monster is addressing him despite looking into the middle distance between the two of them. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and Doggo’s squint immediately pins him in the chest rather than his face. “You’re moving about as slowly as I feel this morning - you should come too.”

“Eh,” Crim replies with a noncommittal shrug, and Doggo returns one of his own.

“Anywho, got stuff to set up. Later you two.” He turns around, waving without looking at them as Blue shouts a quick goodbye before the door closes.

“That’s Doggo,” Blue begins as he starts walking towards the edge of town and the bridge visible between the tall piles of snow framing the road running in between them. Crim doesn’t feel like commenting, so he just grunts as he falls into step with Blue. Blue takes his noise as a sign to continue.

“He’s Dogerressa’s little brother,” Blue tells him. “They co-own the Inn, the store and the library, along with Dogamy, Dogaressa’s husband. You’ll meet him later, the patrol route runs through the town.”

“So, what’d this one do to his eyes?” Crim asks. The Doggo he knows ended up getting himself blinded after falling into one of the traps Papyrus put around their house. The creepy bastard had it coming though. Sticking his snout in their business rewards bad karma, and he sure as hell got his. Crim remembers laughing in his face when he released the cowering dog monster from the poison trap. Doggo had apparently looked straight into the poison when it was dispensed and that was it. Goodbye vision. At least he still had his magic to help him see moving objects as long as he concentrated it around his eyes. Crim’s pretty sure that’s the only reason the bastard is still walking around to this day. Actually seems like he’s better off now. No one can get the jump on him anymore, not even Crim with his teleporting magic. So in some way, it was a blessing in disguise.

Blue is quiet for a few moments before he sighs softly. “He fell over the edge of the cliff right there,” he says, pointing to a spot near the bridge on the other side of the canyon. “He was just a pup. His face hit the rock on his way down. His eyes wasn’t hurt visibly, but he couldn’t see after that. He sees with his magic now, but only movements. Blue magic is limited like that.” Blue shrugs and looks up at the ceiling far above their heads. “He’s been scared of heights ever since. It’s why Dogaressa built the shop to begin with. He refuses to leave Snowdin, can’t even get near the bridge without getting scared. So he can’t become a sentry like me, even though he wants to. He’s really strong and has the soul of a Guard. It’s sad that he can’t live his dream.”

“Life’s a bitch,” Crim just says.

He can see Blue opening his mouth, ready to say something even more sickly sweet, but the Stars offer Crim salvation in the form of an armored rabbit monster. They’re half-jumping, half sprinting out between the trees. The moment they notice them on the path, the rabbit’s hand flies into the air.

“Sans!” they call breathlessly, and both of the skeletons eye them with different degrees of trepidation. “Oh man, just the guy I was looking for.”

“Hi Rent, what’s wrong?” Blue asks instantly, his tone matching the frown appearing on his face. Crim lifts an unimpressed brow bone, letting out a snort. So _this_ is this universe’s Rent? That’s hilarious.

The rabbit stumbles to an ungraceful stop in front of them and immediately bends over, supporting their hands on their knees. They hold a finger up while they suck air into their lungs with a string of groans.

It takes them a double handful of seconds, but once they can speak, they gesture back behind themselves in the direction they ran from. “MK got stuck in the eastern bridge puzzle! I don’t know how to trigger the release, so...”

“Ah! We’re going! Come on!” Blue sprints off without another word, disappearing down the snow-laden path with surprising speed that completely belies his short stature. He doesn’t even look back to check if Crim is following.

Giving the rabbit’s dismayed look a cursory glance, Crim shrugs and follows, but at a much more leisurely pace that takes him into the trees rather than through Blue’s hasty footprints. Fuck busting his ass for the obscenely energetic skeleton.

He thinks he hears the other monster call out to him, but the moment he’s out of sight, he summons his magic and takes a shortcut to the far side of the nearest bridge he knows of. It isn’t even that far, but he still feels a sharp pain stab his skull, a response from the drain on his already weakened magical reserves. His soul is _not happy_ with him doing that, but he ignores the discomfort.

When he peers around a tree, the familiar sight of iron bars before the bridge crossing to Snowdin town proper is startling. It’s a cage, medium in size. The bars seem to be attached to a metal plate buried in the icy layer of snow, but the powdered and shattered crystals covering the clearing and the long trenches that looks like they have been made by something being ripped violently from underneath the ice makes Crim believe the cage hasn’t always looked like this. Crim recognizes a trap when he sees one, and this is most definitely one.

There’s a small figure sitting inside the cage, cornered in one end of it by more iron bars. When he gets closer the monster is easier to see. It’s the armless draconic monster, Monster Kid if Crim remembers it right. The kid looks surprisingly like his universal twin with his black leather “jacket” and the leather cuffs secured around his tail. There’s an oversized beanie almost covering his eyes and a pair of ankle bands, all adding to the “edgy” look. Underneath the black there’s a hint of orange, a sweater carrying the universal sign of a child: the stripes. Looks like the kid has been trying to hide them away. That alone makes Crim snort and shake his head a bit. Kids always want to grow up so fast.

Blue is already in the middle of scolding MK when Crim stops next to the cage. “... I put the instructions on the board for a reason, MK!”

“Paper is so last year Sansy,” the kid responds with a weak wave of a black-taloned foot. “Wasn’t on the Undernet, so didn’t bother.”

Blue actually growls a bit while rubbing his sockets in a frustrated way. “You could get seriously hurt!”

“The cold embrace of Death will be a welcome relief from this torment you old people have called ‘life’,” the kid says.

“I’m only ten years older than you!” Blue says instantly. Crim rolls his eyes at the kid, not feeling in the mood to listen to another teenager weep poetically about how much life sucks. Instead, he turns his attention towards the trap.

He can just barely make out the tops of a impressive set of hydraulics balancing the bottom plate of the cage a few inches above the ground. It seems like there’s a pit underneath it, and the seductive bits and pieces of tech peeking out from below make his fingers itch. It’s a familiar response that he squashes easily, like usual.

Apparently the conversation has moved to the point where Blue is trying to guide the kid through the “puzzle” as he keeps calling it, trying to deactivate it from the inside. The kid is not cooperating however, but instead just keeps bouncing a bit on the pressure plate his feet are planted on.

“No, MK, you have to- just walk over there!” Blue points at the other corner where another pressure plate with a big white X waits to be pushed. MK just bounces a bit again, resulting in Blue producing a sound close to a screech.

“FINE!” Blue announces. “Be difficult!” He mutters as he walks past Crim, cursing teenagers and their unappreciative laziness when it comes to puzzles. Blue reaches into a bush and moments later something clicks. The tiny sound is soon followed by the metallic grinding of mechanical parts moving. The cage rattles a bit before it cracks open in the ceiling. The four huge sides tilt backwards, pausing shortly before gravity takes hold of them. Crim takes a step back, moving himself outside the trenches on the ground. As expected, the iron bars slam into the ground, fitting perfectly into the trenches they left behind when the trap was activated. The bottom plate sinks a bit lower into the ground again, and the “walls” that produced a sort of labyrinth inside the cage sink below the plate. When the trap finally goes silent, it’s barely visible underneath the layer of fresh snow that whirled up when the sides slammed into the ground.

MK calmly walks out and starts heading towards the town again.

“Hey, be more careful kid!” Rent shouts after them. “Next time Sans might not be around!”

“And won’t that be a party,” is all the response the kid gives before they disappear around a corner.

“Kids!” Blue rages when he stomps past Crim again. “It’s going to take me _ages_ to recalibrate it after using the fail-safe mechanism! And all they had to do was just _walk over there_.”

“They’re a teenager,” Crim comments with a shrug. “Can’t expect too much of them.”

“Well, MK is _strange_. Last year they just suddenly started acting different, wearing leather and black all the time. Talking in those weird riddles.” Blue shakes his head and sighs deeply. “I don’t know why they can’t just be like other children.”

“That’s a demonstration of double standards if I ever saw one,” Crim says. “Can’t blame a kid for something you went through too, Blue.”

“I never acted like that!” Blue protests. He seems insulted. “I was perfectly normal, thank you very much.”

“Huh, it’s fairly normal back home,” Crim comments. “Everybody has a phase like that.” Blue tilts his head and looks at him with a wide-eyed, scrutinizing look.

“That makes a lot of sense actually,” he finally says.

“The hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” Blue is quick to say. “But _we_ don’t normally get like that here. I sure didn’t!”

“I don’t know,” Rent decides to interrupt. “You did have all those “problems” with-”

“SHUT _UP_ !” Blue cries quickly. “ _We don’t talk about that_ , remember?” Rent just smiles and shrugs.

“What?” Crim asks, curious now. Rent looks between them, pretending for a second that they’re actually considering not answering.

“Sans’ traps haven’t always been as good as this one,” Rent says quickly, sidestepping a slap coming their way with a laugh. “The fail-safe is there because we’ve had too many situations where people got trapped in his creations and couldn’t get out.”

“Shut up! You promised!”

“He even caught me and my sister one time,” Rent continues. They’re now running in circles around Crim. It’s obvious that Blue will never be able to capture Rent. They’re just too fast with those powerful rabbit legs. “Right before he managed to capture himself when he tried to rescue us.”

The response comes way too easily to him. “Soooo…” Crim says, dragging out the word. “You’re saying he’s captured everything...”

“Shut your face!” Blue says, but the warning is weak, as he’s still distracted with getting his gloved hands on Rent.

“... _but_ a human in these things?” As he finishes, Blue stops his chase with a frustrated yell in favor of shooting Crim a glare through the fingers of a hand that comes up to press against half his face in obvious aggravation. The free hand points itself at Crim’s face accusingly.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you did, Crim!” Blue exclaims, obviously trying to change the topic.

“What?” Crim asks again, his satisfaction quickly giving way to confusion.

“You teleported!” Blue mock whispers after quickly glancing around them. Crim looks around too, not sure who or what Blue is looking for.

“So?”

“You can’t do that!”

“Think I just did,” Crim says. Blue actually stamps on the ground.

Before Blue can answer, Rent cuts in again. “Uh, so not to interrupt your little… whatever it is, but…” They look towards Blue before they continue. “What’s the story with the new guy? Crim, right?”

The armorclad rabbit looks between them, waiting for an answer. Blue stands frozen next to Crim, his eyes widening even more and hands stuck in the air in a half-finished gesture.

“I’m his interdimensional clone,” Crim says. Whatever bullshit Blue is undoubtedly cooking up in his head right now, it won’t be anywhere near as believable. Crim doesn’t have the patience to wait for a good lie.

The rabbit’s eyebrows lift so far up that they vanish under the open visor of their helmet. Crim sighs and rolls his eyes. Of course they don’t know what that is. Dense fucker. “I’m him from another universe,” he explains more simply, jerking a thumb at Blue, who is now staring at him with an expression of utter betrayal. The sheer absurdity of the situation gets to him, and a grin twitches at the right corner of his mouth.

Rent stands still for a moment, eyebrows still lost and face blank of emotion. Then they lean closer to Blue and in a mock whisper, and like they’re sharing a secret, they ask: “Does this have something to do with Papyrus’ you-know-what powers?”

Blue looks between the two of them for almost half a minute before he sighs deeply, like he’s giving up some kind of act. He nods his head with closed eyes, looking sad.

“I didn’t want to bring you into all of this again, Rent,” Blue explains. For some reason he sounds regretful and apologetic. “I know keeping secrets from your family and the Queen is difficult for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” Rent says quickly. “As far as I’m concerned, as long as you guys don’t do anything bad, the Queen doesn’t need to know, and neither does my mom. Besides, it can’t be nearly as tough as it is for you to lie to Captain Alphys. You’re best buds!” Blue looks almost sick when he looks away.

“So what lie should I tell everybody? People have been asking about him since last night,” Rent asks. They look at Crim before they continue. “You kind of just showed up yesterday and scared us half to death. People think you’re some kind of ghost with how suddenly you appeared. You’re lucky Papyrus got to you before Muffet did. She doesn’t like people messing up her café.” Their ears snap up. “Oh, that reminds me. You better go make amends with her. She’s pissed. I heard her talking about introducing you to her pet. Trust me when I say you _don’t_ want to meet it.”

“Great. I’ll put it on my list,” Crim just says, giving the rabbit a plastic smile.

“So, what should we tell people?” they ask, apparently either ignoring or not getting the sharp edge to Crim’s words.

Blue looks at him, like he’s waiting for him to answer. Crim offers him nothing but a snort and a shrug. If Shorty doesn’t want people to know the truth, he better come up with a good lie on his own.

“He’s from the Capital,” Blue says. “A long lost cousin?” Crim lets out a deep groan.

“You can do better than that, Blue,” he says. “Nobody’s gonna believe that crap. Skeleton monsters aren’t exactly easy to miss. ‘Sides, you came from the Capital…” He’s assuming now, but by the lack of response from Blue, he figures he’s right. Their stories are similar. He and his bro didn’t always live in Snowdin either, coming from the city, too. “It’s not big enough for you to overlook _another_ skeleton monster living there. People talk.”

“Do you have a better solution?” Blue asks.

Crim shrugs in response. “Yeah, tell the truth.”

“We can’t!” Blue’s horrified look does nothing but annoy him.

“I don’t see why not. If people don’t believe it, then who cares?”

“I do! But no matter what, we can’t tell the truth! It’s too dangerous.”

“For what?” Crim sneers, his sarcastic tone sharp enough to cut the air. “Your precious reputation?”

“For Papy!” Blue snaps, shutting Crim up. “His powers are unique and dangerous.” He seems to calm himself a bit before continuing. “If people find out he can do the things he can do, they won’t hesitate to try and use him to get free! They won’t see reason, they can’t understand that it’s not possible. People are too desperate, they want freedom too much.” Blue shakes his head, hands clenched at his sides and eyes squeezing closed like he’s shaking off bad pictures in his head. “Our mother died because of what she could do. I won’t let that happen to Papy too. He’s not strong enough.”

Rent stands in place awkwardly, shifting their weight uneasily as they look between the two arguing skeletons. “Uh, why not just say he’s a Mimic?” When both of them turn to look at Rent like they’ve grown a second head, they’re quick to continue. “No, I’m serious! They do these… rituals,” the rabbit moves one hand in a vaguely mystic fashion. “Where they try to figure out the lifestyles of other species. Kind of like a cultural pilgrimage, I guess. That’s their whole thing; I read up on it a month ago. Neat stuff. You guys are kinda exotic, too - uh, no offense - so it makes sense? Sort of? Plus, we can always just say you had been in there waiting for Blue to come pick you up and you had too much to drink. That will explain your little… uhm, _outburst_. People have a tendency to overlook each other if they don’t know them, so you won’t have to worry too much about explaining where you appeared from. Just say something about being with a camouflage monster before.”

Crim can almost see the light bulb appearing over Blue’s head. “Hmm… that might actually be weird enough to work.”

“Hold on,” he says, pinching his nasal ridge with two fingers. If it’s something Blue agreed with this easily, he sure as hell doesn’t trust it. “What the hell is a Mimic?”

“They’re… uh. They’re like...” Blue says, stumbling over his own words. He makes some unintelligible gestures with his hands that involve a lot of finger-wiggling. He looks at Crim hopefully. “You know?”

Crim’s face is the definition of unimpressed. “No. No I fuckin’ don’t.”

Looking slightly disheartened for a moment, Blue bounces back with another thought. “I can show you, though!”

Rent beams at the words, apparently following Blue’s train of thought. “Hey, I’ve got to head that way, too! We can swap info on the way there.”

Blue starts walking back towards town, Rent right next to him. Crim lets out a loud sigh and rolls his eyes as the two of them start yapping loudly. After a quick glance around he follows them, pulling his hood tightly over his head and stuffing his hands deeply into his pockets.

Blue guides them down the road in the center of town, taking them straight to the little dock where the Riverperson conducts their business. Crim’s used to staying away from this place, knowing from experience what happens if you manage to piss off the Riverperson. He feels the familiar prick of apprehension when Blue turns down this road.

The place is like nothing he remembers from his world. Instead of stumps lining the entire shore like in his universe, here there are thick, actual trees framing the little clearing the dock is nestled in. The crowns of the trees are bountiful, completely enclosing the area and making it impossible to really see it before you step over the threshold.

The trail he walks on is bumpy and uneven, the small stones having long since been pushed out of order by the large and complicated network of roots that are without a doubt spread throughout the ground. Crim can see how it makes everything unstable closer to the water, how the dirt has given up and dropped into the waves below, leaving skeletons of root systems hanging over the edge of the small cliff like hooked fingers grabbing after something they dropped. The trees tilt over the water, the long branches of their crowns waving calmly just above the liquid surface in time with a light breeze blowing past.

Over the noise of the others’ talking, the breeze brings with it the muted sounds of hundreds of quiet, rhythmic tinklings. Looking up, Crim is surprised to see countless small wooden and metal chimes dangling down from the higher boughs of the encompassing trees, strewn throughout the branches. Some are attached to the base of mystic-looking weavings tightly bound with leather. They’re hardly the only odd things hanging from the trees, either - Crim can pinpoint a number of glowing, stained glass bottles swaying overhead and a plethora of bottlecaps knocking against each other in the wind, held aloft by multi-colored ribbons. The whole atmosphere makes Crim nervous - the constant motion from above and ever-present background of noise are at once both familiar and, frankly, terrifying.

The only things missing are the numerous carved stakes sprouting up from the ground, weighed down by the countless clear vials of dust tied to them.

Blue and Rent’s oblivious chatting in front of him is the only thing keeping him from turning and walking right back to the house. They’re heading straight for a building near the edge of the water without a single pause in their steps.

The Riverperson’s house itself is small - two rooms at most - and gives off the impression of an antique. The wooden boards that form its perimeter are worn, and they all have peculiar lines and notches carved into them, curling in seemingly random patterns all the way to the slanted roof. Even more chimes and assorted bangles dangle down from the lowest part of the wooden slats, and painstakingly carved on the door is an outline of an eagle containing what he assumes to be a star constellation within it.

Blue, unphased, knocks directly on the eagle’s face, and before he can strike it three times, the door opens inward.

Immediately, Crim is assaulted by warm air carrying the overwhelming, musky smell of aged parchment mixed with some kind of thick incense. Over Blue, he can see the cloak-garbed figure looming over the two up front. Crim instantly averts his eyes from the top half of the Riverperson out of habit. He distantly hears Blue’s explanation for why they’re all here as he takes in all of the details he can see in the thick, navy blue material making up the base of the Riverperson’s cloak. Despite the way it brushes and pools on the lacquered floor, it’s fairly clean and hardly frayed. The draping sleeves cover their hands and obscure any detail of their body they might otherwise have, just the same as the one from his own universe.

Belatedly, he realizes Blue and Rent are heading inside, ushered inwards by the warmth and the owner patiently holding the door open. Crim only hesitantly follows, and when he steps past the threshold, he feels the gaze of the Riverperson bearing down on the back of his neck. It makes his magic flare in response to his discomfort, and it takes a good deal of effort to keep it from reaching his eyes.

Standing besides Blue and Rent - both of whom are animatedly pouring over a half-finished charcoal sketch of a place Crim has never seen nor heard of - he distracts himself by taking in the interior of the place.

A great deal of oddities line the numerous shelves and desks circling the room, but most eye-catching, perhaps, is the skull of a massive bird displayed on a far wall sporting beaded feathers dangling down from leather strips tied behind it. Above the skull, a number of bound tomes on the highest shelves are sectioned off with geodes-turned-bookends, and each spine is embossed with a different stylistic imprint of a monster species - all of which Crim doesn’t recognize.

The remainder of the walls are nearly covered in curling sheets of parchment, corners pinned into the wood with shards of crystal. They bear surprisingly realistic topographical maps created with faded dyes and covered in odd markings and labels that he can’t make heads nor tails of. There’s something off about them. They’re too normal, too _real_ and yet still look so strange that they have to be made up.

But the strangest thing about the entire place is the lack of anything electrical anywhere. Even the lamps lighting the place up are small magical flames and not lightbulbs.

He snaps back to attention as the Riverperson moves from where they’d been standing, statue-like, near the closed door to the house. Crim realizes the movement is motivated by Blue, who is gesturing to him with a hand.

“Come on Crim, don’t be rude! Say hello!” Blue says. Crim just nods his head at the Riverperson.

His eyes stay glued to the floor despite Blue introducing them. It is difficult to get himself to look up, get himself to break that rule. “ _Never look them in the eye. It’s disrespectful.”_ He can almost recall the sternness in his mother’s voice the day she said it, see the sharp flash of magic in her eyelights. He has never broken his promise to her, not even once, not even when it felt like his curiosity was about to rip him apart with how much he wanted to look. He remembers the tales, the explanations she gave him. The reasons they allowed this strange, apparently ancient monster to collect their dust and keep it in small glass jars instead of following the old burial traditions.

_“They know more than you can imagine, son. They are wise in a way no other monster will ever be able to be ever again. Incredible stories hide inside their mind, kept safe for eternities. They recall the existence of monsters that we have long since forgotten, about history, and events that might as well be fairytales by now. In a way, they are the last keepers of our collective spirit. So, why not allow them to be the keepers of our bodies as well? It seems like a fitting end, keeping the spirit and the body together. It has become our new tradition. We come here when we feel Death closing in and they listen to us willingly, no matter if we are mistaken or not. They listen, without judgement, to our stories and they keep them safe for us here in their Garden. In a way it’s a good thing, as much as it is macabre and sad. Their Garden of the Dead is a Sanctuary and they protect it fiercely. So no matter who you might meet here some day, just let your hatred rest for a moment and face them as equals. Here, we are all the same in the end.”_

But this is not his world and this is not the creature his mother told him to respect. There are no stakes with dangling glass vials full of dust clinking against each others’ sides and no Sanctuary where even his worst enemy can’t get to him. It’s strange and creepy, but definitely not home. If he goes outside there’s no stake with his family name and no vials filled with powdered fine sand instead of dust, creating the illusion that there is something to pay his respects to there. There are no silent sobs filling the air and there is no dark-cloaked figure standing by their boat, ready to be called upon when there is a new vial to fill.

He reminds himself of that again before he finally lifts his gaze from the tips of his boots and looks up at the Riverperson in front of him. When his eyelights find the hood and look beyond it, Crim suddenly wishes he had listened to his mother and never dared being disrespectful.

He stumbles a step back as the hooded figure tilts its head. He has no idea what he’s looking at, no idea what that horribly mutilated lump of pulsating pale flesh is supposed to be. In his shock he stumbles straight into a small table behind him, knocking it over. A few knick knacks fall to the floor, one even shatters with the sound of breaking glass, but the Riverperson does nothing but stare at him, their body still as a statue. He wants to look away, wants to rip that sight out of his memories, but for some reason he _can’t_. It’s like he’s hypnotized, like the slow pulsating movements of the flesh hidden deep inside the hood is ensnaring him in a web of magic and making it impossible to do anything but stare.

“It’s weird, right?” Blue asks suddenly, voice as light and cheerful as ever. Crim will _never_ admit the sound leaving him is a scream, but he still flinches away from the skeleton that materializes out of nowhere besides him.

“Fucking hell Blue!” Crim exclaims. “Make some damn noise when you move!” Blue giggles behind a hand and seems far too pleased with himself.

“And miss that priceless look on your face?” he teases. Crim finds it exactly as funny as having a Moldsmal on his face.

When Crim looks back at the Riverperson he nearly shouts again. Gone is the squirming lump of flesh. In its place is the face of skeleton monster he doesn’t recognize and it smiles at him easily, although a bit stiffly, like it has never tried using its mouth like that before.

“They can imitate whatever they want,” Blue explains. “It’s why we call them Mimics.”

“Why did you name them?” Crim asks for no other reason than to keep the silence at bay. There’s something unsettling about the way the Riverperson is looking at him and he can’t stand that and the quiet chimes of the “decorations” outside at the same time.

“They don’t really have a name for themselves,” Blue answers with a shrug. “They don’t have anything for themselves actually. They are “empty” when they are born. They have no form and no personality, no feelings or desires or anything. All they have is their huge minds and their ability to look like they want.” Crim looks around as Blue talks, taking in the room.

“Looks like this one does,” he comments, nodding towards a shelf full of some kind of small figurines. That _has_ to be something they feel something about, because otherwise it’s weird to have ugly pieces of crap like that on display in your home.

“Those are memories,” Blue explains. “They become their own monster way later on in life, by piecing together a little piece of every person and monster they have observed in their life. The Riverperson is the oldest monster we know of! And they are the Mimic with the best developed personality.”

 _“Tra la la. What's my name?... It doesn't really matter…”_ the Riverperson sings calmly.

“Right…” Crim mumbles before sighing loudly. “If this is your plan, then it’s a shitty one. I won’t act like… _that_. No way in hell.”

“Well, that’s the beauty of Mimics!” Rent says. “You don’t have to. We can just say you observed a Rock Wyvern last or something and that's why your personality is… well. That.” Rent gestures to Crim and then decides to grin at him.

_“Tra la la. What's inside an acorn? It's really just a mystery.”_

“Yeah, that’s real fascinating buddy,” Crim mutters at the Riverperson. “Fine, whatever. If it gets you two assholes off my back, I’ll run with it. Now, can we get going? This place creeps me out. No offense buddy.” He aims the last few words at the Riverperson, who just continues to give him that stiff smile of theirs. Crim turns to leave, shaking his head on the way. Just before the door closes behind Blue and Rent, he hears the Riverperson give one final parting gift.

 _"Tra la la. Beware of the man who came from the other world."_ It makes him laugh.

Yeah. _Beware._


	4. The Matter of Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting into the really interesting parts! Are you ready?
> 
> Find us on tumblr if you wanna chat!  
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~

## ~ Chapter Four ~  
The Matter of Family

 

 _“I woke up to find the Earth was round one day._  
_All around the world, things began to change._  
_Never had I ever seen the Sun_  
_Rise that way above the day to greet the dawn._  
_[...]_  
_Yeah and it's there you'll learn what I know_  
_That all of this world will fade_  
_You gotta learn to let it all go_  
_Oh and flow like the river”_

 [ _“Flow”_ by Shawn James](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PmpmP_EQFw)

* * *

The rest of the day is noticeably less  _ weird _ , although still strange. Crim follows Blue like a shadow, keeping a few steps distance between them at all times. He observes more than he interacts, but he finds himself staring at the way his shoes sink into the snow more often than not. After a while, constantly seeing his favorite places look just slightly  _ different _ makes his head feel foggy. His eyes itch with the need for sleep and he feels heavy and sluggish. Each step he takes is slowly draining the last remaining drops of magic, making his body feel just slightly more cumbersome with every passing minute.

It’s no wonder that he falls asleep the second they return to the house and he can sink into the couch with a groan. He barely hears Blue finish whatever he is saying about writing the “reports for the day” on his personal computer, before he’s being woken up a few hours later by the self-same guy who’s gently shaking his shoulders. Crim startles awake, his body instinctively pushing away from the monster in front of him - his bastardized blue reflection. 

“What do you want?” he asks grumpily when his mind is awake enough to recognize who is in front of him. He slaps Blue’s hands away from him and sinks into the corner of the couch again, one hand dangling over the armrest.

“It’s time to leave,” Blue explains. “Al is waiting for us.” 

“Who?” Voice still heavy from sleep, Crim rubs at the side of an eyesocket with the gloved-covered palm of his hand.

“Alphys,” says Blue, and Crim can see tics of mild exasperation on the shorter skeleton’s face. “She’s the Captain. I train with her every Friday. She’s teaching me so I can become a Royal Guard!” 

“The hell you wanna be a Guard for?” Crim asks as he rolls the shoulder he’d passed out on. “Bunch of pretentious assholes.” 

“The Guards are strong and selfless!” Blue says, eyes widening with horror. “They aren’t pretentious! They work hard to keep us all safe. It’s a noble job.” 

“And it gives you a bunch of prestige,” Crim comments dryly.

“Well... they deserve it. They work hard.” He says it like he’s trying to convince Crim and himself that it’s true. 

“Sure, if you say so.” He idly scratches a thumb under his jaw.

Blue taps his foot on the ground. “Hmf. Are you going to get up? We’re already late.”

“‘s fine. I’ll zap us over there. No biggie.”

“Absolutely not! We will take the boat, like  _ normal _ monsters.” 

“Come on, ‘porting is so much easier.” 

“Ignoring the fact that your magic is still incredibly low, using your teleporting powers is dangerous! We can’t risk people seeing you using them.” 

“I really don’t care if the weaklings see me use them. They can’t do shit about it.”

“But  _ we do care _ ,” Blue replies adamantly, crossing his arms. “And you should respect the wishes of your hosts.”

The two of them stare each other down for a handful of seconds before Crim pushes himself heavily off the couch and grumbles. “You know, one day that shit isn’t gonna work on me.” 

“But today is not that day.” There is a short silence where they both glare at each other before Crim rolls his eyelights with a sigh.

_ “Fine.  _ Lead the way,” Crim says in a fake sugary sweet tone. As soon as Blue has given him a big smile and turned his back, he mutters.  _ “... you little shit. _ ” 

“Hmm? Did you say something?” Blue asks over his shoulder. Crim is quick to shake his head, slapping on an innocent-looking grin.

“Nope. Just a yawn.” 

* * *

Much to Crim’s displeasure, Blue is all excitement for the entire trip, going on and on about some sort of special training that he and this ‘Captain Alphys’ have been doing for weeks. Crim catches every fifth word as Blue carries on, supremely uninterested in whatever pedantic nonsense he’s spouting about ‘guard training’. From what he’s seen so far, he doesn’t expect the Guard Captain to be much better than the naive, puttering residents of this universe’s Snowdin if Blue and Rent are company she willingly keeps.

When they arrive at the Riverperson’s dock, Crim keeps his eyes pointedly averted from the cloaked figure. The Underground river is mild, but the three passengers of the wooden craft are borne with unnatural swiftness out of the cold, forested expanse into a much darker cavern heavy with the telltale mugginess of Waterfall. Something about the dimness of the lights is calming to him, but he doesn’t allow himself to relax.

He doesn’t look much further than the knotholes and imperfections in the wood or the toes of his boots until he sees the edge of the boat sliding away from the Waterfall jetty from the corner of his eye, successfully avoiding getting another involuntary look at the creepy Mimic fucker.

If he doesn’t look too closely, it’s easy for him to imagine that he’s back in his own universe as he trails after the impatient skeleton in front of him. But just as he’s willing to believe the half-baked lie, a quick glance at the unnaturally smoothed pathways or the creak of one of the well-used, sturdy bridges underfoot shatters the feeble illusion. 

Blue continues to maintain a fairly one-sided conversation punctuated every so often with a largely ignored ‘would you hurry up?’ up until they actually reach their destination. When they turn the final corner, they’re standing outside a house in the self-same place that Captain Undyne - from his own universe - had claimed as her personal property long ago.

With Blue’s ‘Stars,  _ finally’ _ to confirm it, Crim is surprised to find that Captain Alphys’ house is… surprisingly normal-looking. And - defying everything he’s seen in this universe so far - fairly badass as well.

The whole exterior of the house is reinforced with yellow, sharp-edged metallic scales and it’s two visible ‘windows’ are shaped into an intimidating, red-tinted caricature of serpentine eyes, slitted to regard the viewer with malice. Five distinct horns sprout from the back, their points lost, digging into the cave wall and the ceiling of the hollowed-out sub-cavern of rock. The whole effect is completed by a massive set of shiny, metal, perfectly interlocking teeth set into the ‘muzzle’ of the structure, stretching back into a wide, hungry smile.

The overall effect gives him the impression of a dragon skull, and Crim can’t help but be more than a little impressed. But there’s also the matter of the sheer lack of  _ door  _ that seems off to him. How the fuck are you supposed to live in a house without a door?

Blue seems to catch on to his interest fairly quickly even as he fearlessly approaches the front of the huge set of teeth. “Really cool, right? I helped her with the door.”

“What fucking door?” He blurts out before he can stop himself.

Blue’s smile stretches to an obscene width in response. He holds up one finger before taking his other hand, curling it into a tight fist and slamming the underside into the center of the rightmost tooth.

The tooth must have been hollow, because there is no other way Crim can justify the sheer amount of force it would have taken to make the thing reverberate like that. The sound of metal humming quickly devolves into the cacophony of many servos grinding, and Crim takes an involuntary step back as the whole maw of the structure opens wide to reveal a red-carpeted hallway leading into a tiled kitchen.

_ “Holy shit _ ,” Crim mutters under his breath, eyes latching onto the bits of the extensive mechanism that allowed the whole front of the house to lift at an angle. How…?

Blue turns his satisfied smirk away from Crim’s flabbergasted expression to yell into the seemingly empty building. “Hey Al! Sorry we’re late!”

Crim shakes his head, forcing himself to ignore whatever allowed the feat of engineering to occur. If her house looked like  _ that _ -

He hears the scrape of claws on metal from above, and his magic reacts for him, expecting the worst.

As he looks up, a yellow-scaled lizard monster in tight-fitting leathers hops onto the tip of the house’s ‘snout’, staring down at the two skeletons and flashing them a wide, toothy grin.

“Hahah! You should be!”

Her next hop has her landing heavily in the dirt besides Blue. Now side by side, Crim can see that she’s not much taller than either of them, but she’s obviously much thicker and he can easily spot muscle underneath the scale of her bare arms. She’s already walking towards the house like that ten foot fall was nothing.

“I’ve been texting for twenty minutes on the roof waiting for you to show up!” Her voice is coarse and nearly unpleasant to listen to, but Blue’s excitement is pretty telling - this is definitely Alphys.

“Who’s the sidekick?” Alphys asks, sizing Crim up. She leans against one of the huge teeth making up the doorframe and crosses her arms over her chest. She doesn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that his magic is still active.

“Watch who you’re calling sidekick, you-”

“This is Crim!” Blue answers instantly, interrupting Crim and stepping closer. He wraps an arm around Crim’s shoulders like they have been friends for years and even claps his hand on the right one. “He’s a Mimic! He’s staying with us for a while to observe us.” 

“Get off me ya jerk,” Crim growls as he shrugs Blue’s arm off his shoulders and gives him a good push in the chest with a hand. Blue stumbles a few steps away, but is caught by Alphys before he knocks into the sharp-looking teeth surrounding the little entrance. 

“What the  _ hell- _ ” 

“It’s okay Al!” Blue hurries to interrupt her. She looks at him and rolls her eyes, like she’s not surprised Blue instantly came to his defense. Interesting. “It’s just a misunderstanding! We’re still working on physical contact, right Crim?” Blue looks at Crim then, his gaze hot and intense. Even though he wants nothing more than to tell him to shove it, Crim gets a feeling that this isn’t a fight he wants to have right now. The little pointed flick of the short skeleton’s gaze between Crim and Alphys makes it obvious that Blue wants him to play nice. 

“Whatever,” Crim mutters, releasing his hold on his magic once more. 

“I thought Mimics were supposed to be soft spoken and  _ nice _ ,” Alphys says.

“He was with a Rock Wyvern last,” Blue leans in and mock whispers to Alphys. Some kind of recognition lights up in her face. “He’s still acclimatizing. It was a rough change for him.” 

“I thought they were all dead,” Alphys mumbles back. Blue shakes his head. 

“Nope, one left apparently. Don’t know where he found them, but they’re hiding somewhere in Hotlands.”

“Huh.” Alphys straightens and looks Crim over again. “Okay yeah, I see the resemblance.” Crim has no idea what a Rock Wyvern is, but he has a feeling that being compared to one is not a flattering thing. 

“Anyway! You ready, nerd?” Alphys suddenly asks in a booming voice. She reaches behind a corner to grab a jacket before she walks out of the entrance, smacking a tooth with the back of her fist as she does so. Blue immediately breaks into a grin and he hurries after her, waving Crim with him.

He spares a moment to glance back at the closing maw of the house before he shakes his head and trails after them.

“I have a new tactic I have thought up that I want to try out!” Blue tells Alphys. They’re walking towards a little hole in the cave wall to the left. It’s a new addition; something Crim has never seen in this place in his own universe. 

“Does it involve tentacles?” Alphys asks with a hint of disgust in her voice. “I’m not dealing with that shit again.” 

“It was  _ one time _ ,” comes the exaggerated sigh. “I thought they would give me an advantage! More arms, more opportunities to block! How could I have known they were that difficult to control?” 

“You should have realized that ten magical limbs would be difficult, Sans,” Alphys counters. “You can barely handle  _ one _ .” Something about the way she says it and the way Blue’s face erupts in a dark blush almost instantly after tells Crim there’s an inside joke here that he’s missing. A sexual one if the gruff laugh coming from Alphys is anything to go by. It makes a grin twitch at the edge of Crim’s mouth. Nice to finally see that cheery fucker’s expression change from that sickeningly cute smile. 

They walk through a small hallway that looks like it’s been dug out with a rusty spoon and enters what Crim can only describe as a battle arena.

The cavern is sculpted into a dome-like shape with the apex of the ceiling being perhaps thirty feet off the ground. Within is a huge, flat expanse of packed dirt that’s been torn and scuffed up in so many places that it’s hard for Crim to tell which part of the area is frequented most. Around the edges flows a moat - the bioluminescent water lights the whole cavern, throwing endlessly shifting, soft blues on every surface.

There are a few obstacles scattered throughout the floor, namely a couple of heavy-looking, splintered logs, a few chipped boulders and a number of thick, metal poles staked into the ground. There’s a number more odds and ends piled off to one corner of the arena, scattered haphazardly atop a tarp, presumably to help keep them dry.

Crim hangs back behind the neatly stacked wooden planks that comprise the little bridge over the moat and leans casually against the entrance. He has no intention whatsoever of being a part of whatever little training scenario is about to take place.

Alphys rests her coat atop a discarded traffic cone sitting on the tarp before rolling her shoulders and snapping her claws.

“WARM-UP REPS, NERD,” she bellows. “GO!”

In tandem, the two proceed to engage in a plethora of stretches, and Crim is nearly asleep by the time they’re done. Blue doesn’t even have tendons to stretch - the fuck is even the point of this?

It’s only when they take sides on either end of the arena that Crim perks up marginally, his eyes more focused on Alphys than Blue. Alphys ends up on the far side of the arena, giving him a good view of her impressive ready stance. The ferocity radiating from her form catches his curiosity - unlike Blue’s overeager, obviously exaggerated pose. She looks like a combat veteran.

“Your move first, Sans!” she calls. Her hands stretch to either side in an odd gesture, as if she expects to charge and tackle Blue into submission the second he tries to attack her. Crim wouldn’t be surprised if that’s a thing that is actually about to happen.

...He might be hoping that this is exactly what’s going to happen.

Blue’s magic manifests similarly to his own, adopting the same color as the small skeleton’s eyes and wrapping itself like a second pair of gloves over his hands. A trio of bones appears over his head, all aligned directly on Alphys’ position. Crim notices with an increasing lack of surprise that they’re not even sharpened: the projectiles look almost comically blunted at the edges. The small skeleton is playing at being a warrior, and it’s almost insulting to watch.

Blue lets the bones fly with a flick of his wrist, and Crim’s eyes lock on as Alphys moves. Her stance goes rigid as the projectiles close in on her, but instead of stepping out of the way of the easily dodged attack, a flashing arc of yellow lightning passes between her palms to intercept them. The bones disintegrate into nothingness when they impact with a series of sharp crackles.

“You can do better than that!” Alphys yells. Her hands spread out to either side, ripping apart the arc-shield of lightning until the magic separates, crackling freely on each scaly palm. It coalesces into something a little more substantial, taking the shapes of a pair of identical, plasma-like throwing axes that she immediately chucks across the field.

The attack slices through the air with an odd buzzing noise, but also instead of dodging, Blue braces himself with his arms locked into a barred defensive posture and ducks his head. The axes slam into him with a bright flash of yellow light and the force of a small explosion. Crim straightens from his slouch as the rush of air whooshes past him and blinks a few times to get rid of the aftermath of the blinding light... only to find Blue still standing.

The other skeleton has a couple of thick, curved shields of bone covering his forearms that had definitely not been there a second ago. He can see a number of spiderweb cracks running along the shields from where Alphys’ attacks had damaged them, but they’re quickly filled in as Blue feeds magic back into them.

Alphys doesn’t give him long to recover. Her talons dig into the soft earth as she charges through the field, more of that yellow electric magic zapping between her claws. She’s halfway to Blue before he starts moving as well, keeping one of the two shields directed towards Alphys as he sprints towards the nearest boulder. Despite being noticeably faster than the lizard monster, he still has to perform an evasive roll to avoid being tagged by another couple of axes that Alphys flings his way.

Good that he does, too, as they both make noticeable dents in the already chipped hide of the boulder before ricocheting off and fizzling out of existence. Alphys continues her charge, unable to see what Crim does from his angle: that Blue is pressing his magic-coated hands against the dirt.

“Hiding isn’t going to save you against a human OR me!” The crackling electricity manifests into a large, two-handed axe fuzzing at the edges with barely contained magic. She leaps three feet from the boulder, brandishing the hissing, sputtering blade’s edge and plunging it straight into the center of the stone. The resounding crack of the rock splitting perfectly in half is timed with a spur of bones jutting out of the ground below Blue, launching him straight into the air above Alphys.

Recovering from the attack, she has no time to block as Blue’s shields come crashing down onto her face. The  _ thunk _ of blunt force trauma as bone connects with scale is audible. Blue tumbles out of the unexpected attack and delivers a second, louder  _ thwack _ of one of the shields against Alphys’ leather-armored right side that nearly topples her.

Blue backs up, dancing out of her range as she recovers with a shit-eating grin on his face and the magic in his eyelights at the brightest Crim has seen them yet. “Who says I was hiding?”

Crim’s eyesockets get a little wider. Blue can actually  _ fight _ ?

Alphys shakes her head with a growl, but she’s grinning as well when she returns to her ready stance. Crim thinks he can detect pride on her face. “Good one, nerd! I haven’t seen you platforming for a while. Was that the new thing?”

“Nope!” returns Blue, his voice at that smug, piping level. “This is!”

His stance suddenly shifts, and there’s a flash of blue magic before a set of bone spurs tear out of the ground in an odd pattern towards the lizard monster. She looks confused, at least until it’s followed by another, and another, and another, until they form a moving, labyrinthine corridor that surrounds Alphys. The attack simply doesn’t stop, even after Alphys is jogging through the mobile maze of bones. Crim can see her dodging through the winding patterns in the bones as a yellow and brown blur through the narrow gaps between the spurs. For some reason, Blue seems adamant on leaving a safe pathway through for the attack for her to navigate through.

Five seconds pass. Eight. Ten. Crim’s jaw drops open as the attack just  _ continues _ to manifest. The sheer amount of magic and concentration required to keep something that extensive and complicated going for more than a handful of seconds is fucking nuts. When the fifteen second mark goes by and the bones have neither stopped nor slowed, Crim begins doubting his sanity for the umpteenth time and curses under his breath, unable to take his eyes off the spectacle.

How in the everloving shit did  _ Blue _ become capable of something like  _ that _ ?

However, Alphys, seen between the walls of her ivory prison as the occasionally visible blur, suddenly laughs despite the situation she’s in. “SANS,” she bellows, “WHAT’S THE FIRST RULE OF COMBAT IN DISADVANTAGEOUS TERRAIN?”

The victorious smile slowly slides off of the other skeleton’s face, and the bones in the maze seem to shake with Blue’s uncertainty, but he can’t seem to take his focus off of the intensive attack. Crim does see his shoulders draw up higher in dread, however.

“IMPROVISE!”

A single, crackling yellow axe flies in an arc out of the bone labyrinth. Crim tracks its descent, which has it headed straight for a metal pole a few feet off to Blue’s left. The shorter skeleton’s eyelights shrink to the size of peas as he belatedly sees the weapon off to the side. The moment it clangs against the metal, a shockwave of visible electric magic ripples out from the pole. Though it barely touches him, his attack wisps away instantly and Blue’s form seizes up before he topples over, limbs completely rigid and eyes blank.

Even his shields start crumbling at the edges as Alphys trots over, her armor a bit more scuffed than before and puffing from all the exertion. She squats over him for a second before she chuckles and unceremoniously throws Blue over one shoulder like a particularly stale sack of potatoes.

“Hey, you got me good!” She says as she starts hauling him towards the tarp to pick up her jacket and then heading back towards the entrance to the arena. “I’m impressed! That was a neat trick!”

“He’s still alive, right?” Crim asks as she walks past him, noting that Blue hasn’t even twitched since he’d fallen flat on his back.

“Oh yeah, he’s fine,” she says breezily. “The paralysis will wear off in a few minutes. I’m just going to set him on the sofa until then.”

“Paralysis? How did you manage that?” Crim shoves his hands into his coat pockets as he follows her.

“It’s a side effect of my magic,” she explains with shrug that lifts Blue a bit higher into the air. “When it comes into contact with conductive materials, it gets absorbed and immediately released, creating a discharge. The more conductive the material, the stronger the discharge.”

“So… Magical EMP, huh?” Crim doesn’t mask the curiosity in his voice.

Alphys keeps talking even as she opens the ‘door’ to her house with a loud knock to a tooth. “Yeah, kind of. In some cases it polarizes things.” She taps her leather-clad chest with her free hand. “Makes it so that I can’t wear metal if I want to use my magic.”

“Sounds like a pain in the ass,” he says, fascinated. There are no monsters in his universe that he knows of who can use that sort of magic.

“You live, you adapt,” she says with a shrug before looking over her shoulder at him as Crim crosses the threshold of teeth. “Hey, close that, would you? Give it a good lovetap.” She grins and mimes knocking on the tooth to Crim’s left, and he obliges.

As it turns out, the teeth are  _ not _ hollow, and his hand stings a bit when it comes away. But Alphys’ look of surprise when the maw starts to close makes up for the pain.

“Huh. Well, you’re observing Sans, so I guess that isn’t too surprising.” She shrugs again and continues around a corner to deposit a still motionless Blue on a small couch. Next to it sits a comfortable-looking - though heavily patched - armchair. There’s a TV on the opposite side of the room and a large, round table shifted off to the side completely filled with all manner of electronic devices, their guts spilling off over the sides and some messily scattered under and around the table’s legs.

Amidst the chaos strewn atop the table, he can pick out a half-completed little mechanical figure that has a number of small gears and tiny metal pieces sticking out of its joints. Crim’s eyelights automatically gravitate to the mess, but when he takes a step towards it to get a better look, a warning claw comes up from Alphys. 

“Look but don’t touch.”

Crim hovers near the end of the couch, hands in his jacket and interest still piqued. “What’s that all about?”

“Hm,” the lizard monster hums as she drapes her jacket over the immobile, sofa-bound skeleton. “I’ll let Sans explain it when the rigor mortis eases up,” she chuckles to herself before adding, “the whole ‘put it all together’ thing is more his forte anyway.” She shrugs. “In the meantime, I’m gonna go make some tea. You want some?”

Mimics drink tea, right? They’re monsters too, so it would make sense… right? Fuck, he’s not sure. “Eh... sure,” is Crim’s uncertain response.

Alphys scratches a couple claws beneath her horned crest as she passes him to get into the kitchen. “Right. Just make sure Sans doesn’t fall off the couch again when he comes back to life, okay?”

“Again?” The muttered word is almost unheard over the distinctive clicking of Alphys’ taloned toes against the kitchen tile in the other room.

While she’s busy in the kitchen, he leans against the side of the sofa and stares over the arm at Blue. Though his eyesockets are still stuck wide open with shock - heh, literally - there’s now a bit of color starting to flare to life in there instead of the unnerving blank look he was sporting earlier.

“How often do you shock the shit out of the guy?” Crim calls towards the kitchen.

“You mean the paralysis?” Her questioning tone of voice makes Crim think that there’s a lot more to their training sessions than he’d originally assumed. “It depends, but I guess the average is…” There’s three taps of a claw against ceramic before Alphys finishes her thought. “...Bi-monthly? Something like that. It used to be more - he’s getting better about utilizing his environment.”

“That explains a lot,” Crim mutters under his breath.

“ _ Really?”  _ comes the gasping word to his left, making Crim turn.

The rigidity of Blue’s body is slowly relaxing beneath Alphys’ coat, and a couple of very normal-looking white eyelights appear in his sockets after a slow blink. Apparently Blue  _ is _ capable of toning down his intensity… under duress, at least.

The other skeleton’s expression is just starting to turn sour, and he takes a deep breath. “Just because I can’t say anything doesn’t mean that I can’t hear you, you know,” he says, tone quiet and accusatory.

Crim flashes an unapologetic grin at him. “Guess that means you were only partially fried.”

Blue aggravatedly rolls his small eyelights before pitching up his voice. “ _ Really, Al? _ ” Crim sighs through his nasal cavity at the volume. That peace and quiet didn’t last very long.

Boisterous laughter comes from the other room, which only provokes Blue into further shouting. “You only did that because I didn’t leave you any other escape route!”

“You keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep better,” she returns cheerfully as she rounds the corner bearing a tray with three coffee mugs. “But, much as I love turning you into a cheap science classroom prop, I had a couple other options.” The words, rather than being smug, come off as more of a statement of fact. “But hey,” she continues, “if you don’t  _ want _ to be put on display, then you’ve got to watch the field. I’m hardly the only monster with environmentally reactive magic-”

“ _ I knooooow _ ,” Blue whines and presses his gloved hands to his eyesockets as if he’s heard this spiel a hundred times before.

“Ahuh,” she says with a smile as she places the tea tray on an end table on the opposite end of the sofa from where Crim continues to lean. “Alright knowitall, then how about you explain our mech table to your new friend while I dress down?”

Blue finally pushes himself up into a sitting position, and Alphys’ coat falls forward onto his lap in a messy heap. “You don’t need help with the tail clasps?”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” she says as she heads back towards the direction of the kitchen. When she disappears into the room on the opposite side of the kitchen and shuts the door, Blue releases a deep withheld sigh like he’s relieved about something.

“So far so good,” Blue says quietly. “She’s not on to you.”

Crim makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat as he glances at the closed door Alphys disappeared behind. Despite his lack of trust in Blue’s judgement on anything, he’s still fairly confidant that he  _ doesn’t _ want the lizard monster catching on to this little charade.

“Right, so!” Blue pipes, gesturing at the mechanical mess of scraps and electronics off to one side of the room. “Alphys and I are actually a competing team in the annual Mech Warriors event sanctioned by the Queen herself and hosted by the Royal Scientist at the Capital,” he says excitedly as he folds the jacket on his lap. “We’ve been doing it for a few years, and we’ve gotten pretty close before, but I think we have a real shot at winning this time!”

When Crim looks from the table back to Blue, the shorter skeleton’s bright magic is once again flooding the huge eyelights he finds staring up at him above the obnoxious smile.

“Yeah?” He pitches his voice towards an uninterested drawl as Blue sets aside the neatly folded jacket.

“Yep!” Blue stands, plucking a mug from the tray as he moves towards the table without any sign of stiffness. He beckons Crim over as he continues talking. “Each team is given some restrictions, of course, but the whole idea is to design a superior mechanism with a more viable strategy than the teams you’re pitted against.”

Crim finally gives up, snagging a mug as well as he goes to stand on the opposite side of the table from where Blue is busy talking and gesticulating. His eyes sweep over what looks to be some kind of actuator, a number of varying sizes of screw laid out on a grease-stained cloth, and the tiniest pair of axles he’s ever seen. Where did these two even manage to find this stuff?

“...and the last one able to function in the arena wins,” Blue finishes. Despite not paying complete attention, he thinks he caught the gist of it.

“So it’s a bunch of people who like making robots that beat the shit out of each other,” Crim says. 

“N-no,” Blue is quick to say with a certain amount of affront etched on his face, “it’s about-”

“ _ Actually _ ,” Alphys interrupts as she returns wearing loose snapback shorts, a shirt, and a highly amused smile, “that’s pretty much exactly what it is, hahah!”

“The intent isn’t to  _ destroy  _ anyone else’s projects!” Blue objects.

Alphys leans closer to Crim, who in return leans a bit away from her. “For some of us it is,” she mock whispers to him before giving him a wink. She pulls away quickly afterwards in favor of grabbing an unamused Blue and sitting him down a chair. “Come on nerd! Lighten up. We got robots to build!” 

The next few hours consists of Crim halfway napping on Alphys’ couch while listening to the two of them bicker over every single tiny screw they put into the mangled mess that’s supposed to be a robot. 

He must have managed to fall asleep, because Blue’s waking him up for what feels like the tenth time today. 

“Time to go home Crim,” Blue says softly. Crim yawns and stretches before following Blue, who’s in the middle of hugging Alphys at the entrance. They’re saying something to each other that Crim doesn’t quite catch. Before he reaches them, Blue waves and exits the metal maw that makes up the front door. 

“Come on Crim, dinner doesn’t make itself!” Blue calls. Seeing him already halfway out of the cave makes Crim feel even more tired. 

“Later,” he says, nodding to Alphys when he passes her, but is stopped in his tracks by a very pointed set of claws digging into his shoulder through two layers of clothing.

“What-” His words stop dead in his throat at the severity of the look the other monster is giving him.

“He might not be able to tell,” her eyes momentarily flick to Blue, who’s nearly rounded the corner already at his brisk pace, “but  _ I can _ \- and I have my eyes on you.”

She releases him a second later, affixing him with a slightly more devious look as he takes a step away from her. “Be seeing you, ‘Crim’.”

* * *

Not ready to handle more crazy shit today, Crim wiggles into a comfortable position on the couch and readies himself for a night of watching reruns of this universe’s robot star, intent on ignoring the deep sighs coming from the kitchen. 

It has been almost ten minutes since the last sound from the kitchen when Crim starts noticing the silence. It has his soul trembling with nervous energy. When it finally becomes too much, he stands with the intention of investigating why Blue is suddenly so silent. 

He finds Blue in a situation he hadn’t expected. The small skeleton’s upper body is resting against the table, his arms spread in an arch over his head. There’s a pencil still held loosely between two fingers and papers spread over the entire surface around him. With eyes closed and that tiny smear of ink on his cheek, Blue looks almost peaceful in his slumber. The darkened bone under his sockets and the slight frown his face seems stuck in tells another story, though. After glancing at the papers Blue has surrounded himself with, Crim understands the look of exhaustion. 

The papers are all filled with schedules and seemingly endless rows of calculations, one after another adding numbers and symbols to the string of equations. Crim has no idea what problem Blue is trying to solve, but it’s obvious that it’s not easy. 

Beneath it all, there’s a calculation scratched out in red marker that catches his eye. Below that, there’s another. And another. In the margin besides many criss crossing lines of red, two words likely comprising a personal note explains the hastily discarded string of calculations: “Not enough.” 

Curiosity has Crim edging forward, head tilting to the side in an attempt to read the corner of the paper Blue had been working on before falling asleep. It’s just barely visible under his right elbow, but Crim can see the place where his otherwise neat handwriting started to drop when sleep took him. It’s more numbers, but they are not why his soul pulls together, sending a burst of guilt through his body. It’s the title at the beginning of the string: “Food budget”. 

Suddenly, the many schedules and equations covering the table make sense to him. The notes added here and there to the number strings all have a meaning now, all making him feel a tiny bit sick. 

“Hey, Shorty,” Crim calls. He pushes Blue’s shoulder a bit, startling the other so he wakes up in a rush. 

“Wha- Crim?” Blue rubs his sockets and then looks at the papers in front of him, a frown casting his face into dark shadows.

“You crashed,” Crim tells him. Blue barely acknowledges him as he goes straight back to work. 

“Thank you for waking me up,” he just says. 

“Sure.” Crim hovers nearby, trying to convince himself that leaving is the best thing to do here. After a few moments of battling himself, he gives up with a quiet sigh. “So,” he says, trying to sound casual, “what’s with all the numbers?” 

“Oh, I’m just trying to fit you into our schedules and budgets,” Blue answers.    


“You don’t-” 

“Look,” Blue interrupts him, holding a hand up between them. “You are here alone and you need a place to stay. We don’t mind helping you until you can go home again.”

“Can just go to the inn,” Crim says. 

“And how are you going to pay for it?” 

Crim shrugs. “I’ll get a job, like a normal monster. Don’t go fucking up your lives because of me. I’ll be gone soon anyway.” 

“It’s no trouble. We’ll find a way to make it work, we always do,” Blue says, mouth stuck in a strained smile. He looks down again before he continues with a small handwave. “Besides, as far as I’m concerned, you’re as good as family, and family helps each other.” 

The easy way that statement is delivered pierces through Crim’s soul instantly, punching the air out of his chest. He stiffens, body locking up. Luckily, he’s standing just far enough behind Blue that the other is unaware of the chaos that erupts in Crim at his words. A mix of fire and ice is battling inside him, anger and spite fighting confusion and gratitude. The worst of them all is the guilt and raw, pure  _ desperation _ clinging to his soul though; emotions he can’t and  _ won’t  _ deal with. 

“Why would you say something like that? We  _ literally _ just met this morning.” His words leave him in an unintentional growl. Blue looks over his shoulder. When he sees Crim’s expression, he puts the pencil down and turns on the chair so they can easily see each other. 

“We’re basically twins,” Blue says, pointing between them.

“The hell we are. We couldn’t be further from family, even if we tried.” There’s a fury burning, making his hands clench into fists and his magic spark in his chest. It takes a surprisingly amount of effort to prevent it from reaching his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Blue says quickly. He waves his hands between them. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.” 

“I ain’t  _ upset _ ,” Crim says. 

“Right, of course not.” Blue sighs. “I’m sorry,” he repeats quietly, looking a shade more exhausted than he had a moment ago. “I won’t say that again.”

“Good. ‘Cause we ain’t family and  _ never _ will be, got it? You’re my universal clone and that’s  _ it.” _

“Family is more than magic…” 

“And even then we don’t fucking come close.” Crim doesn’t wait to hear Blue’s response before he leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a bunch for the comments! We absolutely love every single one of them. And thank you for reading :)


	5. The Purrfect Companion

## ~ Chapter Five ~  
The Purrfect Companion

 

 _“Hey, little darling_  
_I'm gonna take you outta the darkness_  
_I wanna walk with you in the light, hold your head high”_

 _“Runaways”_ by Sam Felt, Deepend feat. Teemu

 

* * *

 

It’s just past midday when he leaves the last job interview of the day, this time in a house in Waterfall. The mother of three is still breathing heavily after laughing a little too hard when he showed up for the interview. He closes the door behind him, using the wood to block the sound of her amusement. His face burns when he still hears her laugh loudly through the door. He doesn’t linger in hopes of her changing her mind; he’s pretty damn sure he’s not getting that babysitting job.

Crim doesn’t know what he expected. He’s not trained for anything besides being a sentry, and he even sucked at that. He never understood why walking around for hours every day was important, when all he had to do was watch that big stone door at the end of Snowdin, since it was the only way in and out of the Underground that didn’t go through the Palace. Applying to be a _babysitter_ was the worst idea he has ever had. What was he thinking? He hates kids! They’re nosy, rude, dirty and just a pain in the ass to be around.

He groans and pulls his hood up, covering his face from the stares of monsters he passes on his way back. It’s the same every time he leaves the house. More people staring at him in disbelief, unable to figure out why he looks so much like Blue. He could just tell them the Mimic cover story, but that won’t fix their staring. It’ll only make it worse. Curiosity is a dangerous thing and it sets him on edge. Makes him pick up his speed a little bit just to get away from the turtle dude that’s watching him like a hawk.

He curses to himself again, shaking his head. Something coils in his gut when he reluctantly pulls his new cellphone out of his pocket to delete the picture of the babysitter job post he had taken. As soon as it’s gone the last picture appears on the screen and Crim sighs deeply. He hates the fact that he’s even thinking about it, but there’s no other way: he _has_ to go talk with GD and LD about that logging gig they posted about on the Snowdin community board Blue showed him. There’s no other way around it. He’d exhausted all other job offers, despite how hilariously unfit he would be for them. He’s not able to clean anything, no matter if it’s in a private home or in a restaurant. What was he thinking?

The last hope he has of getting any kind of money in this universe is the dogs. The damn _dogs._ Crim groans. He doesn’t hate Snowdin’s dog population, actually have a few of them back home he calls friends, but they’re just so… _friendly_ in this universe. The mere thought of spending any kind of time around them makes his body itch in a very familiar way. Dusting sounds more appealing than enduring their _cuddles_. It would be so much easier than suffering through whatever those dogs will put him through. And all this just because his conscience decided to poke it’s head out after what he witnessed the other day. The lines of exhaustion etched into Blue’s face are still vividly clear in his mind and the knife of guilt twists in his gut every time he recalls the image. They’re struggling even without him sticking around, and despite his dislike of the two clones, he still feels bad. He knows what it’s like to struggle like that and there’s almost nothing that can compare to that hell. Those idiots are just trying to be nice and they can’t understand that being nice will make them suffer. So, the only right thing to do is to get a semi-steady income so Crim can take care of himself and get the hell out of their way. It’s easier for all of them.

He’s still muttering to himself when he hears the first tiny mewl. At first he thinks it’s a rat squeaking in a corner, behind a pile of garbage somewhere. The garbage makes him pause and sigh to himself. He must have taken a wrong turn while throwing himself a pity party and now he’s deep in the garbage dumps instead of being en-route to Snowdin. He needs to pay more attention.

The mewl comes again and his thoughts quiet as he listens. The sound is hollow and hoarse, making his soul feel like it’s being pierced with a huge needle. He decides to search around, curiosity and slight worry making him lift soaked pieces of cardboard boxes and floating plastic bags with a sound of disgust.

Finally he moves a ruined piece of cloth lying over a box and finds the source of the sounds. It presses itself into a corner the second the cloth is removed with a wet, slapping sound.

The small furry animal inside expels a hiss unlike any Crim has ever heard before. The small animal looks like a cat, or more like a kitten with how small it is, but it’s long, reddish fur is lumped together and soaked through, making it easy to see the famished thin body outlined under it. It looks like it’s close to death.

The kitten curves its back upwards and bares its fangs, ears pressed flat against its skull. Crim doesn’t move, but he does chuckle. “Hey there, sunshine,” he coos softly at the pitiful little thing, whose only response is to hiss and growl at him again. The sounds are weak, but easy to understand: Crim has never seen a warning quite so clear before.

“Where’s your momma?” Crim asks, looking around. Maybe it got lost?

He doesn’t have to look around for long. There’s another plastic bag lying close by, its contents making the bag look oddly lumpy. The second he tries to open it, he’s assaulted by the horrible stench of rotting flesh. He lets go it instantly and pulls away before he even gets a glimpse of what’s hiding inside it, covering his nose with a hand. He doesn’t need to see them to know.

“Fucking hell,” he curses. It’s not the first time animals have been found like this in the dump. Happens all the time in his universe too. It makes his hatred for humans burn even hotter than before. Who could do something like this to another creature?

“Aw shit,” he sighs, looking back at the still growling kitten. Looks like this one is a fighter, despite being a tiny little shit. It must have clawed its way out of the bag before it drowned too.

Another sigh leaves him and he rolls his eyelights at himself. No, fuck, he doesn’t need- There’s gotta be someone else around who can deal with this shit. One glance around is all it takes to tell him that no one else had heard nor cared about the thing. The section of the dump he’s in is completely empty right now.

_Fuck._

Once again, his soft spot is going to get him into trouble.

“Alright, you’re coming with me.” He bends down and reaches in, trying to grab the kitten. He gets a well placed set of claws and tiny teeth sinking into his hand as a reward for being stupid.

He pulls his hand back with a shout, hissing at the sting burning on it. Small drops of marrow well up in the thin scratches and he looks at them with a bubbling feeling of happiness. “Heh, looks like you’re the only damn thing in this universe that hasn’t lost it’s mind,” he tells the kitten. It just hisses at him again.

“Yeah yeah, I know. You don’t wanna leave your family behind,” he says. “But tough shit, sometimes we’re forced to do that to survive.” He drags the sleeve of his jacket down over his hand to protect it before he quickly scoops the kitten up. It fights his hold with teeth and claws, trying to get free, but he’s prepared for the pain of scratches now. Eventually he ends up taking his jacket off and wrapping the kitten in it to avoid it hurting itself with its frantic thrashing.

He decides that Blue can screw himself and prepares to take a shortcut. His magic is still low, but nowhere near as completely gone as it was when he just arrived. Not having it activated all the time has built up quite a large reserve of magic already and he uses it gladly to teleport straight to the living room in the house. Luckily, no one is home and he gets away with it without having to listen to more of Blue’s lectures.

He takes the kitten with him to the bathroom right away, deciding that a quick bath to clean it and warm it up is the most important thing at the moment. The kitten has given up on fighting and is instead shivering violently in his jacket, like it’s freezing.

It doesn’t like being submerged into the hot water he filled the tub with, but it doesn’t fight him much either as soon as the warmth envelops it. Lacking anything better, he uses a drop of the soap sitting on a shelf and starts scratching it into the thick lumpy fur. He’s careful not to be too rough, knowing from experience that when you’re almost freezing and starving to death, being handled too roughly can make you throw up or pass out. Or both.

When the first tiny rumble vibrates against his hand, Crim grins. “Yeah, that’s right. You just relax while I do all the hard work, you little shit,” he tells the cat in an affectionate tone. He rubs a few soapy fingers between the cat’s ears and is rewarded when the cat’s purr becomes so loud he can just barely hear it. Its belly is now flat against the palm of his left hand, its head resting against his forearm. With eyes closed the kitten just lies there and takes whatever Crim gives it, purring like it hasn’t tried anything like this before.

A heartbreaking thought worms its way into Crim’s mind: it probably _hasn’t_ felt a gentle touch ever before.

When he’s done washing the cat’s fur, he rinses all the soap out with a soft stream of hot water from the showerhead. Soon he has a clean, but dripping wet kitten still plastered to his hand, purring away.

He grabs the first towel he sees and wraps the kitten in it. He rubs it all over, trying to get as much water out of the thick fur as possible. The kitten decides it doesn’t like that treatment much and starts wiggling again, trying to get away.

“You’re gonna freeze to death if I don’t do this,” Crim tells it, despite knowing it probably doesn’t understand a thing he’s saying. It’s comforting in a way nonetheless. The cat looks at him with betrayed yellow eyes and he stops for just long enough to scratch it behind the ears a bit.

Once it’s as dry as possible, he wraps it in a new, dry towel to keep it warm. The kitten seems to like this and begins purring again, rubbing it’s face against the edge of the towel and the fingers he has wrapped around the tiny bundle. It soon begins to lick any fur it can get close to.

“Time for lunch, yeah?” he says as he unplugs the tub to drain the water in it. He stands and carries the kitten with him to the kitchen.

The twisting knife in his gut returns with full force when he starts looking through the cabinets and cupboards, searching for anything that can go as cat food. Almost the entire kitchen is empty. All he finds is a package of crackers, tea and sugar and a few ingredients in the fridge that aren’t cat friendly.

Crim steps out of the kitchen again, feeling his guilt triple. He really needs to find a job and it can’t happen soon enough. The few coins clinking away in his pocket are far from enough, but maybe he can make some kind of deal with Doggo in the store for a slice of meat for the kitten. If everything else fails, he can always appeal to the guy’s soft soul. Crim guesses all monsters in this universe have one.

With that decided, Crim hurries to shrug on his now slightly damp jacket and lets the kitten bundle rest against his chest inside it. Luckily, his jacket is a few sizes too big for him and that makes him able to close the zipper around the cat so he can keep it warm against him. The cat lets out a tiny meow when it’s flush against him, and starts rubbing its face on his shirt. Crim realizes it can probably feel his soul pulsate in his chest, sending magic through his body. Nobody has ever been that close to his soul before, and for some reason it isn’t as terrifying as he thought it would be.

One hand keeps the kitten pressed against his chest as he walks, while the other digs around in his pocket for the coins he knows are down there. He finds them hiding in between small pieces of paper and a piece of string he can’t remember ever picking up.

A small bell chimes above the door when he enters the shop. Looking around, he finds nothing but stocked shelves full of goods. There’s no one else besides him here, and Crim thinks he can guess why: the air inside is almost colder than outside, leaving his breath as a white cloud in front of his face as he takes in the store. The windows next to him are all frosted over with a thin layer of ice crystals, blocking much of the view from outside. All he can really see is the outline of one of those snowdog lanterns.

Small paper stars, animals, and an assortment of tiny airplanes dangle from above his head on individual strings, all spinning in slow circles from the movement of a lazily revolving ceiling fan. More of them hang from the counters and even the shelves themselves, and the different colors of paper combined with the sequins and disgusting amount of glitter that some of the creations are submerged in, give the whole place a bit of an artsy-craftsy feel that Crim really hadn’t expected.

Doggo appears from somewhere behind the counter, wearing a jacket and a blanket over his shoulders. He is staring straight at the door, just a few inches from Crim’s face, but it seems like he has no idea where Crim really is.

“Heya?” Doggo comments, sniffing the air a bit and wrinkling his nose in barely suppressed disgust. “What can I do for you?” Crim hears the edge to his tone, the slight uncertainty. Combined with the small wrinkle on his forehead, Crim realizes that Doggo is nervous because he isn’t moving and that means Doggo is as good as blind. Suddenly, all the dangling decorations hanging from shelves and the small bobbleheads lining the counter make sense: they’re there so he can always see _something_.

“Got anything that can work as cat food?” Crim asks. He shifts the weight on his feet and waves a hand in the air, gesturing to the kitten. Doggo’s gaze shifts and locks on him instantly. Instead of being freaked out about it, Crim tries to shake off the feeling of discomfort and forces a grin to appear on his face. The Doggo _he_ knows is much different, both in appearance and attitude. He’s never had this aura of uncertainty around him, never felt handicapped in any way when he was around him. He never instantly turned his head as soon as people moved to look at them. Sure, it was hilarious to try and trick him, but the guy spent more timing training that they did, always trying to heighten his other senses as much as possible, which made him one of the most feared monsters in the Underground. No one went up against Doggo if they wanted to live.

This one feels broken somehow, and it sucks seeing someone looking so much like his friend being so obviously hindered by his disability. Especially when Crim knows it can be one of his strongest abilities instead.

“Oh, hey new guy. I have meat,” Doggo answers, looking to the cooler on his right, standing next to the counter. On small rotating plates inside there’s different cuts of meat. “Don’t have pet food. Not enough buyers in town. I can get some sent from the City though, if you need it?” Doggo shifts his gaze to Crim again and zeros in on the bundle of kitten that has started wiggling and meowing again.

Crim shifts the coins in his hand around a bit while he thinks, but ultimately has to sigh. “What’s the price tag on that?” he asks, nodding to the cooler. He doesn’t have the money for special ordering anything, so he will have to find some other way.

Doggo follows the motion of his nod before answering. “5g a piece,” he says. With a small sigh of relief, Crim scratches the kitten’s head to make it calm down again.

“Gimme some of the fish then,” he says. The kitten meows again in response to his scratches and tries to get closer to his fingers.

“I’ll give you a discount, since it’s a bit frozen. Damn heater broke again,” Doggo explains with a sigh as he wraps up Crim’s order.

Crim perks up at that. “Broken? How come?” he asks.

“Hell if I know,” Doggo answers. “Thing just constantly breaks. It’s a nightmare to get it fixed, and expensive. I’m half convinced the repair guy is only making it work and not really fixing the problem so he can keep earning money off it.” He places a small paper bag on the counter and leans his elbow against it. With another sigh and a wave of his paw, he continues. “Still, he’s the only guy in the Underground capable of repairing shit like this who has the opportunity to work freelance and travel. Everybody else is either working for the Royal Scientist or has families to care for, so they can’t travel all the way to Snowdin.”

“That’s fuckin’ stupid,” Crim comments. It makes Doggo snort.

“You said it. I’m waiting for him to show up sometime this week, so.”

Crim shifts the coins in his hand again, looking at the small box behind Doggo that he guesses is the heater. It looks like a standard heater, so it probably works like the ones he’s used to.

It’s so tempting and it doesn’t take long for him to break. “Let’s make a deal,” he says slowly. “I fix your heater and you give me this as payment?”

“You know how to fix a heater?” Doggo asks, forehead wrinkling with suspicion. Crim shrugs.

“Eh, I know a thing or two. Got one of those back home. Gimme me a screwdriver and I’ll take a look.”

Doggo looks at him for a long time, clearly thinking about it. Eventually he relaxes a bit and a lazy smile lights up on his face.

“Okay, can’t hurt to let you take a look,” he says. He flips a small piece of the counter up and lets Crim step through the gap left behind. Crim wastes no time, quickly moving to the heater and taking off the outer shell to expose its insides.

“Tell you what,” Doggo says as he hands Crim a screwdriver. “If you manage to fix it, I’ll pay you what I was going to give the other guy.”

“I’d rather have food, t’be honest,” Crim mumbles, deep in thought. He’s following a wire that’s looking a bit corroded and he hums when he finds the problem. A bunch of the wires connected to the powersource are badly corroded, making it difficult for the power to run into the heater.

“Food?” Doggo asks. Crim leans down to take a look at the underside of the heater and finds nothing out of order. Looks like it’s just the wires.

“Yeah, wanna help with the guys I’m crashing with. You know-” It feels so weird to use the names and he struggles with getting them out for a moment. “Sans and Papyrus,” he finally manages. “I’m trying to find work to front rent, but so far no luck.” He leans back and looks at Doggo again. “You got Sodium Bicarbonate somewhere? Or baking soda?” he asks. Doggo lifts both eyebrows at him.

“Sure, I got that,” he says slowly.

“I’ll also need salt and vinegar,” Crim adds when Doggo turns away. He nods once before he walks into the store. He grabs a bottle and two small boxes of salt and baking soda from the shelves. When he returns he hands both items to Crim again.

Crim grabs the cup standing on the counter and dries off the remaining drops of tea with a paper towel before he uses it to mix as much salt into a cup of vinegar as possible. Once that’s done he grabs another cup and pours baking soda in it. “Water?” he asks. A minute later he’s handed a bottle of water.

Once the two solutions are done, he removes the wires from the power source and strips them a bit to expose to corroded metal. When he sinks them into the salt and vinegar mix and starts twirling them around, Doggo finally speaks up again.

“What are you doing?” he asks, holding a hand over his nose. “It smells horrible.”

“Cleaning the wires,” Crim explains. “When metal gets exposed to humid air, like the type we got in Snowdin, they start corroding. Too much corrosion blocks the power and that’s why your heater ain’t workin’. Salt and vinegar works as an acid and it etches away the oxides, making the wires almost good as new again.”

“What’s the baking soda for then?”

“To stop the etching process once I’m done cleaning ‘em,” Crim happily explains. “If I didn’t, the wires would be eaten up by the acid mix once they hit the air.” As he says this, he dips the wires into the baking soda solution and twirls them a bit before pulling them out again. After a quick drying with another paper towel he holds the wires up so Doggo can touch them.

“Feel how smooth they are?” he asks.

“Yeah.” The answer comes with a hint of surprise.

“That means these babies are ready to go again,” Crim says. He reattaches the wires to the heater and makes sure everything is in place before he reattaches the outer shell.

“How come you didn’t get electrocuted when you put those things into liquid?” Doggo asks.

“‘Cause I’m not an idiot,” Crim answers. He picks up the power cord and makes a show out of plugging it back into the wall. “I pulled out the plug before startin’.” He flicks the switch and the heater hums to life, instantly beginning to fill the air with warmth.

“Holy shit, you did it!” Doggo exclaims. He falls to his knees next to the heater and holds his paws up in front of it, moaning happily when he feels the rays of warmth hit his fur. Crim is already feeling the chill in the air dissipating a little. “Take whatever you need, fill an entire bag if you want to,” a very happy Doggo tells him. “You’ve earned it.”

* * *

It’s only just after he gets back to the house and finishes laying out a plate of fish for a very happy and mostly dry kitten that something starts vibrating in his pants pocket. What he pulls out is a phone with a screen that has a hairline crack in one corner - a device he’d gotten on loan from Blue through Alphys.

Flicking on the screen feels no less strange today than the day he’d gotten it. The fact that most monsters in the Underground were able to contact each other at a moment’s notice was something that everyone took for granted in this universe, apparently. In his, it was really only the higher-ranking Royal Guardsmen - like his bro - who had one of these. Seeing the dogs in Snowdin texting each other really reduced the mystique of something he’d come to think of as a status symbol. He frowns as he types in a response to Blue - of fucking course it’s Blue and not one of the other monsters he’d left his contact info with - and immediately gets another question in response.

 

 

What is it with this guy? Despite the unquestionable benefits, he can already see the downside to the whole phone thing: Blue would never leave him alone. Crim shakes his head as he walks to the laundry room and exchanges his damp, admittedly smelly jacket for the first clean thing he finds in the dryer: a grey, oversized hoodie that still smells faintly of smoke. It’s obviously Slick’s. He’d wash it later with the towels, and it’s not like the guy probably didn’t have at least seven more of these things in his room somewhere.

Returning to the kitchen to check on the kitten, his eyelights wander over the bunch of the other foodstuffs he’d picked up from Doggo. Instead of putting them away, he gets a better idea.

* * *

True to his word, it’s almost a quarter to seven when Blue walks through the door. Crim is planted on the couch, feet kicked up and TV running as background noise.

At first, Blue doesn’t notice the purring kitten hiding inside Crim’s borrowed hoodie. He’s busy throwing off his coat and boots.

“Did Papy come home?” Blue asks when he passes Crim on his way to the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, Crim can see the exact moment Blue realizes that there’s already food cooking on the stove. Blue stops, freezing in the door leading into the kitchen, his arms full of shopping bags.

“Yeah, right about after you texted,” Crim answers, choosing to ignore the fairly extreme amount of surprise radiating from the small skeleton. “He went straight to his room. Don’t think he noticed me.”

There’s a short silence where Blue is still paralyzed in the doorway before he slowly puts the bags on the floor and turns around to look at Crim.

“Did… Did you start dinner?” he asks quietly. Crim looks up from the kitten wiggling around inside his hoodie, getting its small claws stuck in his clothes.

“Yeah,” is all he says. Blue takes a step closer.

There’s something nervous hiding in Blue’s expression that Crim isn’t sure he likes. “And... how did you get the ingredients? I just got home from the store.”

“Made a deal with Doggo. Helped him out with something and he gave me food in return.” Crim shrugs with a shoulder. “It’s just a stew. Figured something that could last a few days was good.”

“You can cook.” Blue says it like a statement, but Crim hears the question hiding in his tone.

“‘Course I can cook,” he says, feeling a touch indignant. “I had parents too.”

“That’s…” Blue pauses, his gaze growing distant.

“You got a problem with me helpin’ out?” Crim asks sharply. 

“What? No, not at all! I’m just… not used to having help,” Blue says.

Crim snorts. “Well, get over it.”

“Thank yo-” Blue is interrupted by the kitten meowing loudly, unhappy with Crim’s attempts to untangle it from his clothes.

“What’s that?” Blue asks. When Crim looks back at him, there’s stars in his eyes. “IS THAT A KITTEN?!”

“Yeah,” Crim answers. “Found her alone in the dump.”

“Oh no! Poor thing!” Blue is suddenly hanging over the armrest on the couch, his face uncomfortably close to Crim’s. Blue only has eyes for the kitten stapled to Crim’s shirt, however, and he’s already reaching out to pet her.

“I wouldn’t do that if-”

“You are so _cute_ -” Both of them are cut off harshly by a swinging set of claws shooting out from Crim’s shirt and a loud, hissing growl. Blue jumps back with a yelp, holding his hand to his chest.

“Yeah, this little shit is not the friendliest thing in the world,” Crim explains, letting out a soft laugh. He scratches her behind the ears again as a reward, making the cat change out her growling with purring.

“Why can you pet it then?” Blue asks, voice wobbly. Crim just shrugs again.

“I earned her respect.” His explanation earns himself a snort from Blue.

“I’ll show you how easy it is to earn a cat’s love,” he declares before he marches into the kitchen.

The next half an hour is pure comedy gold for Crim. He watches Blue try to buy the kitten’s love with small pieces of meat. The cat is far from interested in Blue’s attempts to bribe it, and is letting out a constant stream of hisses and growls every time Blue gets a little too close for her comfort. Blue gets himself a few matching sets of claw marks on his hands and after the fifth one he finally gives up, pushing himself back with a loud sigh. He throws his hands in the air.

“I don’t understand it!” he exclaims.

“Don’t understand what bro?” Crim turns his head and finds “Papy” there, in the middle of dropping himself on the couch next to Crim. He sees the kitten, but barely reacts to it. Crim feels the need to get away and he’s quick to jump from the couch.

“I’m gonna check on the stew,” he hurriedly explains before he flees to the kitchen, desperate to get away from that empty void surrounding the fake Papyrus.

When he’s safe in the kitchen, Crim looks down at the cat who’s trying to make herself comfortable again. Her claws dig into his shirt and he can’t stop himself from smiling.

“You’re a cute little shit, I’ll give you that,” he tells the kitten. “Wanna stick together for a while?” The kitten meows like it understands him before nuzzling into his chest again, finally finding herself a good spot. “Heh, yeah you just nap for a bit. I’ll keep you safe, my little Miss Claws.”

* * *

 

_"Miss Claws" - fanart by Shiv_

_[Find it on tumblr](http://shivra.tumblr.com/post/161458868787/crims-cat-miss-claws-she-stares-into-your-soul) _


	6. Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry we're a day late! We got caught up in preparing for a DnD session and forgot xD We're the worst. :p

## ~ Chapter Six ~  
Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked

_“Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked_  
_Money don't grow on trees_  
_I got bills to pay_  
_I got mouths to feed_  
_And ain't nothing in this world for free”_

_“Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked”_ by Cage the Elephant

* * *

It’s late morning in Snowdin Town. A sweet fragrance is slowly spreading through the skeleton brothers’ house and its hushed rooms. The kitchen is the only source of noise, and also the source of the scent lingering in the air. There’s no music and the only sound is the occasional metallic clang as cutlery touches a porcelain surface.

Crim is trying his hardest to be as quiet as possible. Even his curses are muttered quietly to the room when he is distracted by the water boiling over in the pot on the stove and his fingers end up touching the hot plate of a waffle iron.

His efforts are in vain though, since the only other occupant of the house - who’s still at home - makes his presence known with a deep, sluggish hum as he slides into the kitchen. “Mmh what’s that smell?” Crim turns around with a start just in time to be witness to this universe’s Papyrus somehow tripping over a smooth floor. He falls forward with a surprised sound, but instead of falling flat on his face like Crim expects him to, he somehow saves himself and ends up sprawled over a chair instead.

Crim shakes his head at the goofy grin directed at him from the chair and turns around to check the waffle currently baking inside the iron. “It’s waffles,” he answers the earlier question, and he can’t help adding a small muttered, “Thought that was pretty fuckin’ obvious.”

“Where did you get the waffle iron?”

“From your kitchen, duh.”

“But that’s been broken for years…”

Crim shrugs. “Eh, it was an easy fix.” The glance he casts over his shoulder leaves a pool of soothing warmth in his chest. Papyrus looks impressed. “Fixed the faucet in the shower too,” he adds, nodding in the direction of the bathroom. “You guys had no hot water. Can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

“We did. Just costs a fortune to get it repaired.”

“Really? That’s bullshit. It was so easy to do, I could have done it in my sleep. Sounds like you guys have been screwed over pretty badly by the repair guy.” Crim dumps a plate of freshly baked waffles on the table in front of Papyrus. He catches the look of surprise on the guy’s face before his back is turned again and he starts preparing his own plate.

“Thank you.” It’s said quietly and he doesn’t answer with more than a nod and another glance over his shoulder. He finds the guy staring at his plate like he’s never seen waffles before in his life.

“There’s butter in the fridge,” Crim tells him. “Syrup should still be in the cabinet next to it, but Blue probably moved it.” He would do that, Crim thinks to himself. Blue seems like the kind of person that would care about how his kitchen is sorted.

He hears Papyrus stand behind him and feels him move away from the table. Crim takes a deep breath and forces his clenched hands to uncurl a bit so he seems more relaxed. He could handle the whirlwind of energy called Blue yesterday, so he can handle the empty void of darkness that is this world’s Papyrus too.

“It’s just for a few weeks,” he whispers softly to himself. “Just a few weeks. Get over it. Play nice.”

He turns off the waffle iron when his breakfast is ready and joins Papyrus at the table. The other skeleton is already dumping toppings on his waffles with an eager expression. Seeing the other drowning his food with half the contents of a bottle of honey instead of syrup makes Crim snort with amusement, but he doesn’t say anything. If this weirdo wants to ruin his waffles with that unhealthy amount of honey, then he can do that.

Papyrus stabs his entire stack of waffles at once when he finishes drowning them in honey and Crim knows it won’t end well before Papyrus even lifts the fork.

As predicted, when Papyrus lifts the fork to his mouth and takes the first bite, the waffles can’t support their own weight and they fall off. They don’t land back on the plate again, but on the table, only just hitting the plate on the edge. The plate is whipped up in the air and before Papyrus realizes what is happening, it drops to the floor and breaks with a loud crash.

Both of them stare at the broken plate for a bit before Crim lets out an amused hum. “Nicely done, that was very _Slick_.” He shakes his head again and stuffs a bite of waffle into his own mouth. It’s almost impressive how much one person can fuck up within five minutes.

Papyrus stares forlornly at the table waffles. "Huh. Guess that was a flop," he says. He keeps staring for a few more moments before he just stabs the waffles again and continues eating like nothing happened. Crim watches the honey dribble onto the table for a bit before he shrugs and decides to ignore it. It isn’t his problem, and - though he won’t admit it out loud - it’s good to know that he’s not the only slob in the house. If nothing else, he can probably get away with pinning any accidental faux pas on _Slick_.

After a few uses, he decides he likes his new nickname for the fuck up that is this universe’s Papyrus.

* * *

After making sure his cat is fed, Crim grabs both her and his jacket and heads right out the door so he doesn’t have to spend more time in ‘Slick’s’ presence, and to keep Blue out of Missy’s fur whenever he gets home.

There’s a light snowfall fluttering down as he makes his way across town, causing him to pull up his hood. But, despite the drop in temperature, Missy seems less content today to stay in the confines of his jacket. She climbs her way up, causing him to twitch a few times as her tiny, sharp claws dig through the two layers of clothing and scratch at his bones. He makes a mental note then and there to trim them later. Thankfully, she makes it up quickly enough and settles around the back of his neck with a triumphant mew. A soft tickle on his chin makes him tilt his head as he passes the Library, and he gets an eyefull of the kitten peeking out from around the base of his cheek. She’s been more fur than cat since she’d dried off the other day, and now her curiosity seems to outweigh any discomfort the chilly cavern can offer her.

He gives her a quick scratch on the chin and is swiftly rewarded by a pleased purr that sounds much louder than it actually is in the confines of his jacket’s hood. The sound soothes some of his misgivings for the real purpose of this outing: he has to talk to the dogs about that logging gig.

Crim stuffs his hands back into his jacket pockets. There’s really no getting around it this time. He’s still broke, still out of a job, and now he has one more fluffy reason to keep looking. It’s not as if he could apply to be a sentry - not with the suspicious Captain breathing down his neck, anyway. Man, fuck this universe, and fuck Blue’s positively shitty cover story.

A wriggle from Miss Claws and a soft mew slow his crunching footsteps as he makes sure she’s not about to take an unexpected dive out of his hood, and when he looks up to inspect his surroundings, he finds himself outside of Muffet’s Cafe. The fancy cursive letters lit in pastel purples are a far cry from the navy blues and blacks of Grillby’s Bar, and what Rent had told him the other day springs to mind.

The owner of the only food establishment in town isn’t someone he wants pissed at him, and, figuring it won’t take long to at least apologize for causing a scene, he decides to get this over with as quickly as possible so he can get back to business.

The entire glass front of the cafe is delicately etched in spiderweb patterns holding various baked goods, and at the corners of the webs rest exaggeratedly ‘cute’ caricatures of spiders, if you could call arachnids cute. It doesn’t prevent Crim from seeing the fairly empty innards of the establishment, however - the only patrons inside are a bird-like monster he doesn’t recognize at the front and a fairly intimidating-looking member of a flytrap-like plant species drinking a cup of something off to one corner.

It’s slow. Good.

Warmth and a number of rich, doughy scents rush past him as he opens the door, and it’s only the plant monster that pays him any mind, its huge maw tilting up for a second before returning to its beverage. A bit of nervousness overtakes him as he steps inside and his eyes sweep the silent interior of the place. The whole cafe is well-maintained and ridiculously full of soft, purple pastels and creams - it looks like someone put a Moldsmal in a blender and used it to paint the walls.

The bright lights that hang from above are held in tightly woven, silken patterns too complex for his eyes to follow, draping the entire ceiling in a spun tapestry of white thread. He thinks he spies movement up there, but he’s not entirely sure. It could just be the webwork moving with the air currents or his mind playing tricks on him.

Everything is spotlessly clean and polished and waxed, even down to the wooden floorboards and tabletops, giving the joint an air of class that Crim hasn’t seen outside the Capital in his own universe. The walls, where there aren’t windows, are lined with miniature plaques stamped with a gold bowtie, an individual name, and a year. There are a _lot_ of them, too.

He approaches the line of chairs on one side of the cafe’s front counter, where, on the far end, the bird monster he noticed from earlier is still sitting and absorbed in a book of some sort. The other side is entirely taken up by a massive glass display where all manner of baked pastries are displayed. Crim can’t even put a name to most of them - it’s all cake to him, honestly - but they all look good.

He takes a seat and pushes his hood back, revealing a miffed kitten who proceeds to burrow back into his zipped jacket. In-between helping Miss get to where she wants to go and his wondering of where the proprietor of the cafe is, his eyes fall on a solid, wooden door behind a counter that leads who-knows-where. Well, everything in the glass case has to be made somewhere, he supposes.

He has barely finished the thought when said door opens and an unfamiliar monster steps out, the sweet scents of baked goods wafting out around her. Her three sets of arms are all carrying various different trays and plates of food, and baskets of various pastries. One plate is placed in front of the bird monster effortlessly. Crim doesn’t hear what is said to the bird monster in a low voice, but he hears the following laugh that makes him think of a lovestruck teenager’s giggle.

When she turns around and starts moving closer to Crim, he sits a bit straighter on his chair and shifts so he’s facing her. She smiles at him, but doesn’t seem surprised to see him sitting there. “Well hello there dearie. What a pleasure it is to have you back in my parlour.” She smiles brightly with her mouth closed and all five of her eyes bunch up merrily at the corners. “It’s _always_ nice to see a new face in town.” The last trays and baskets still in her hands are all placed in the glass display to his right.

“And you being fully conscious this time is a _lovely_ bonus I must say,” she continues smoothly as she closes the small sliding door to the display. She rests two sets of hands on her hips and crosses the other over her chest. An eyebrow over her lowest, leftmost eye lifts when he continues to stare at her, somewhat fascinated with her strange purple uniform and the long hair collected in a complicated braid hanging over her shoulder. He didn’t think spiders had the ability to grow hair that long, but then again he didn’t think they could have long, colorful painted nails either.

He’s never seen a monster like her before. He has heard about her, obviously. Not only from this universe’s Rent, but from stories from his own universe too. She’s placed right underneath the “Water Demons of Waterfall” on the list of “top three cannibalistic monsters to stay the fuck away from” in his world. Even kids don’t dare whisper her name, afraid of being overheard by one of the many minions she enjoys sending out to spy on people in order to blackmail them. Her web is far larger than the visible one spread all over that one section of Hotland nobody dares go near, and once caught in it, there’s no escape.

Suddenly, the movement on the ceiling he thought he imagined earlier seems much more possible.

“I’m here to apologize for that, Miss,” Crim explains. He inhales slowly, trying to keep his breathing even as his eyelights flicker upwards again, catching what is _definitely_ movement above the silky decorations on the ceiling. “I’m a bit of a lightweight,” he lies easily, “and I had too much to drink that night.”

The smile on Muffet’s face disappears as he talks. A frown appears as he stutters out his last few words and he has to swallow an imaginary lump in his throat when her eyes slowly run over his face and body.

“Dearie, you don’t have to tell me the truth, but don’t lie. That’s not _polite_ ,” she says slowly.

“I-I didn’t! I’m telling the truth,” Crim tries, but even he has to admit that there’s no hiding that tremble in his voice. He feels his soul struggle when he tries to pull at his magic, getting ready to teleport out of the way when Muffet tsks at him, shaking her head.

“Oh just relax, there’s no need for _that_ magic right now,” she says, gesturing to his eyes with a wave of her hand. The magic stirring in his chest halts at her words, and Crim tilts his head in confusion. No question leaves him, but Muffet smiles like she hears it loud and clear in his mind.

“Yes, _I know_ ,” she mock whispers at him, before pressing a finger to her lips and making a “shh” sound, like she’s shushing him. Her theatrical display ends with a wink and another light laugh as she straightens. She walks a few steps away and starts working on something.

“I’m sorry,” Crim says because he feels like he should. He’s not entirely sure what he’s apologizing for, he barely knows what she apparently “knows” about, but he decides to continue with what he actually came here to say. “I’m trying to find a job, but as soon as I do I’ll pay for whatever damages I caused.”

Muffet’s only response at first is the edges of her mouth pulling up just a bit. “Word around town is that you have a talent for fixing things,” she says after pouring the drink she just prepared into a tall glass. It’s sickly yellow and reminds Crim of hydraulic oil. She apparently greatly enjoys watching Crim freak out about the small group of spiders that descend from the ceiling to weave a small net around the glass before transporting it to the flytrap monster in the corner.

“It- It is?” Crim asks, still staring at the spiders that are now unwrapping the glass again before disappearing in the ceiling decoration.

“Doggo hasn’t left his store all night. Dogaressa had to drag him over here this morning for their weekly breakfast date.” Muffet laughs softly again. “And Papyrus couldn’t talk about anything that wasn’t the waffles you made him this morning,” she continues. “Now, I know for a fact that their waffle iron has been broken for a long time. He’s been coming here every morning, begging for waffles even though they are not on the menu.”

“They were easy fixes,” Crim says with a shrug. “I basically robbed Doggo yesterday, the poor bastard. It was _that_ easy. The guy was way too happy about his heater being fixed. Let me walk out with three hundred gold's worth of food.”

“Well, he would have paid the repair guy nearly fifteen hundred,” Muffet says. “So actually, he kinda robbed you.”

“What?!” Crim exclaims. “Fifteen _hundred_ ?! Who _is_ this guy and why the fuck do you guys let him screw you over so badly?”

“He’s the only guy in the Underground that knows enough to repair our machines when they break,” Muffet explains, leaning a few hands on the edge of the counter. “The scientists are all too busy in their jobs to travel out here to help us. We can’t afford to be cheap.”

“You can’t fucking afford not to be either, holy shit,” Crim counters. “That guy is literally just being a dick. Those fixes were the easiest thing ever, I’m tellin’ ya. I bet I could teach you to fix the damn heater in five minutes flat.”

“Is that so?” She eyes him skeptically.

“Lady, I could do it with my eyes closed and one hand tied to my back,” he returns with utter confidence. “It’s really _that_ easy.”

“Hmm,” she taps one of her fingers against her lips as she regards him. “How about a jukebox?”

“What about it?” Muffet points to what might be the saddest excuse for a jukebox ever known to monsterkind.

“This one has been broken for quite a while,” she explains. “No one knows how to make it work again. I have a repair scheduled for sometime next week, but… If you can fix it, I’ll forget what you owe for that night.”

“For real?” Crim jumps off his chair, holding a hand on the bump of purring kitten still hiding in his jacket. As soon as he kneels in front of the jukebox he can see the problems clear as day.

“Oh man,” he says, the magic draining from his eyes in his distraction. “This is even easier than the damn heater.” He pulls out a coin from his pocket as he speaks, a grin stretching over his face.

The plastic casing covering the insides of the jukebox pops off easily, and Crim reaches in to get to the arm that transports the CDs to the player. He uses a few fingers to push the arm into its right position again and using the coin, he tightens the screw that has come loose. Once that’s done, he reaches up and uses the sleeve of his shirt to rub the layer of dust off the small laser reader inside the player. Finally, he reconnects the power cable to the receiver inside the jukebox which he notices has been ripped out, probably caused by someone forgetting to unplug it in their eagerness to try and fix it. With that finished, he reattaches the casing and plugs the thing into the wall. It whirs to life, lighting up with a few clicks. A few presses of buttons later and Crim watches as a CD is flipped from the storage stack to the side and clicks into the player easily. A song starts playing moments later.

His grin is far too smug when he returns to his chair, but the initial look on Muffet’s face is well worth the roll of several eyes he receives once she stops staring at the jukebox in disbelief.

“Impressive,” she comments. “You really do have a way with electronics.”

“They’re like small misunderstood children,” Crim responds. “Just gotta guide them a bit before they can shine.” The smile he gets from her now is big and bright. Something about her seems to soften at his words, and that helps him to let go of the last bit of tension still resting in his shoulders. He leans back and returns her smile, a warmth spreading through him.

“I think you have earned a treat,” she says. “What do you like best? Chocolate or vanilla?”

“I have no idea what either of those that are,” Crim answers honestly. He has _some_ idea of course, having heard both mentioned in various books and movies, and from tourists from the Capital, but he has never had a chance to taste either. Food items like those are too expensive for normal monsters to afford in his world.

Muffet looks at him with increased scrutiny for a few seconds, but her expression shortly changes to genuine surprise when she seems to realize that he’s not joking.

“Oh no, that cannot be allowed,” she announces loudly. The sliding door clicks as she flicks it open with a bit too much force, but she ignores it in favor of pulling out two items from the display. She places each of them on a different plate and proceeds to decorate them with an array of items she pulls out of cabinets and off of shelves. One pastry gets a good layer of fluffy white foam and something brownish sprinkled over it. The other receives a good dribble of what looks like black syrup to Crim and a sprinkle of… that can’t be coffee powder, right?

Muffet serves both plates to him and hands him a fork. She points to the pastry with the white foam first. “This is a glazed chocolate cake with whipped cream and honey-roasted nuts,” she tells him before pointing to the other pastry. “And these are cream puffs with a vanilla custard filling, chocolate sauce and a sprinkle of cocoa powder for a hint of that dark chocolate flavor.”

“You do know I have no idea what you just said to me, right?” he tells her, eyelights flicking between Muffet and the plates.

“Just try them!” she orders, somehow managing to sound gentle and demanding at the same time. Crim holds his hands up shortly before grabbing the fork she places in front of him.

He’s a little hesitant with her three pairs of crossed arms and five eyes trained on him expectantly, but after that first bite, he forgets all about her existence in favor of enthusiastically stuffing his face. It’s so fantastic that he can’t remember the last time he’d legitimately enjoyed food this much. It’s a far cry from the spiciest stuff he could get his hands on back in his own universe - mostly so that he _couldn’t_ taste anything else - but it’s an incredibly positive change of pace. He hasn’t decided which one he likes better even after both plates are completely, spotlessly cleared in record time.

Sometime during Crim’s dessert binge, Muffet had settled into a contented posture above her glass case of pastries. Noticing him giving a last, reverent lick to the fork, she titters as she proffers him a napkin.

“You have a little whipped cream left there, dearie,” she says, pointing at a spot on her own chin.

Instead of accepting the offer, a long red tongue snakes out of his mouth to swipe over the indicated area. He grins widely at Muffet’s exasperated expression and the lowermost set of her hands plaster themselves to her hips. “Did I get it?”

She re-folds the napkin with an obviously exaggerated huff of annoyance and a shake of her head, placing it back with its kin below the counter. “You and Papyrus both, I swear.”

“Both what?” he asks with an errant chuckle, pushing himself off the chair and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

“You are both a couple of misfits,” she says pointedly, though there’s a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “And if either of you had any less decorum, I might mistake the pair of you for intoxicated fire elementals.”

Crim has to laugh at that, and for a brief moment he forgets about his situation. The only fire elemental he knows of does, in fact, fit that description fairly well on the rare occasions he does drink.

“Yeah, maybe,” he agrees. “But with more mess and less accidental wildfires, heh.” He sighs, his easy grin faltering a bit as his reason for delaying the inevitable worms its way back into his thoughts. “Anywho, much as I’d like to stay for a second round, I got a place to be.”

“Of course, dearie. Come back soon, won’t you?” Muffet sends him three-fifths of a blink - which he interprets as a wink - and gives him a parting wave as she deftly clears the counter of plates.

“‘course.” Now more than ever, he’s thankful he didn’t fuck this up, because little does the lady spider know, but he’s already formulating plans to try everything underneath that glass front.


	7. Soul Suspect

## ~ Chapter Seven ~  
Soul Suspect

 

_“We stare both long and deep_   
_Into the morning that creeps_   
_No breaks nor are there blinks_   
_Soul exposed, no room to think”_

By [ **EEM** ](https://allpoetry.com/EEM)

 

“No no no, look,” comes the almost painfully patient voice from the other side of the room. The other two are attempting to make something akin to food and it’s a noisy process. It’s probably the third time Slick has messed up something and Blue has had to correct him.

It’s strange seeing him down here at this time of day, Crim thinks to himself while glancing at Slick’s back. Normally the taller skeleton is sleeping away the afternoon in his room. Seeing him put in the effort to try and engage in any kind of social thing with his brother is bordering on the uncanny. His attempts are cringeworthy at best, and pathetic the rest of the time. It’s uncomfortable to witness, but Crim is glued like a tick to the litany of fuckups regardless, and he ends up watching silently as Slick fails his way through the afternoon.

For most part Crim can ignore what the two others are doing and wallow in his own grumpiness, but despite the obvious aggravation coloring Blue’s voice, there’s a noticeable hint of pure, raw _joy_ too that doesn’t slip past Crim unnoticed. It makes the normally loud-spoken Blue even louder, his excitement hard to hide. His face is constantly stuck in a wide smile, and even though he rolls his eyes at his brother and corrects his constant mistakes, there’s no doubt that Blue is having the time of his life right now. It just proves how rare seeing Slick trying to make an effort really is. It makes Crim’s spine crawl with a strange sort of discomfort, but the sides of his mouth twitch upwards regardless. That just sours his mood, him reacting like that. Everything in the room is just so damn _happy_ …

Except for him.

_He_ doesn’t have his brother here, trying his hardest to be around him and do something with him. There’s no one to shout at him and correct his mistakes. All he has is the crappy cup of tea that he keeps stirring for no particular reason. It can barely be called tea with how strong and nearly undrinkable he has made it, and even then the blackish liquid comes nowhere near the level of harsh, bitter perfection he’s craving so badly. He never thought he would miss coffee this much.

_Just one more thing I’d taken for granted_ , he thinks acidically.

Crim sighs at himself and forces his thoughts down other roads, trying once again to ignore the clusterfuck of a situation in front of him. His thoughts end up settling on the past week’s hectic passing and the many, many jobs he suddenly has swarming him.

It all started when Crim left Muffet’s the week prior. He’d barely taken five steps before he heard someone calling his name. Turned out to be Dogaressa who had heard he could fix things. She had a bunch of heaters in her inn, all different models, that needed a loving touch. The way she had delivered the request almost made Crim feel like someone would dust if he didn’t help her right that second.

Fixing the heaters took most of the day, but he was paid well. So well, in fact, that he almost gave Dogaressa half back because he felt bad taking her gold.

He didn’t manage to get hold of GD and LD about the logging job that day. Turns out that he didn’t really need to. Word travels just as fast in this universe as it does in his own, and - much to his amusement and his host’s thinly veiled annoyance - much of that speed came straight through Blue’s phone. The very next day he was called to Waterfall to help fixing a radio. The salamander monster apparently put in a good word for him, because suddenly he had jobs piling up, coming all the way from Hotlands even. People are apparently so desperate for help that they’re willing to turn to a complete stranger, and the sheer amount of them are pulling at him from all sides. He can’t even remember when he last had a moment to sit down like this. Within the bare confines of a week in this universe, he’s been officially branded as the “Fixer Skeleton.”

He downs a portion of his awful, motor-oil-esque tea and leans his cheek against a fist. Of their own accord, he finds his eyes straying back towards the two other skeletons. It looks like Slick managed to do something right, because they’re no longer arguing over how to cut veggies, but instead over the pan he’s currently trying to fry said veggies on. Slick is waving Blue away with a hand, his eyes following the movements on the spatula he’s pushing the cooking food around with.

Crim is amidst wondering how long it’ll be before the rich smells of pepper and squash will turn into an inedible, scorched mess when the knock comes: one loud crack of noise that fills the whole house. The sheer force of it actually startles him, sending a slop of tea over the edge of his mug as he jerks in his seat. He curses under his breath as it starts to soak into the back of one of his gloves. Who the fuck is trying to break the damn door down?

“Keep stirring them, okay? I’ve got it!” Blue is quick to zip out of the kitchen, excitement written on his face.

“Tell whoever it is to fuck off!” Crim yells after him. “I’m booked into next week already and I don’t care how important they think their dishwasher is.”

Over the breathy chuckle from the other side of the kitchen, he can hear Blue ratcheting open the door without even checking first. This universe...

“Alphys!” _Fuck._

Yep, there it is: he can practically hear his hopes of a peaceful evening shattering around him with the sound of the lizard Captain’s rough laughter. Though he can feel knives of apprehension digging into his spine, he actively chooses to ignore them in favor of his shitty beverage.

“Hey nerd! I was in town for some stuff and I figured I’d drop by,” Crim hears her say as the door closes again. There’s a pause and the sound of clawed feet being lightly scuffed across the drying mat. “Don’t want to bother you for long if you’re about to eat, though-”

“You’re not!” Blue is quick to chime in. “In fact, you could stay for dinner if you wanted to!” As Blue keeps talking, Crim is forced to smother a frustrated groan before it escapes. “Papy and I are actually cooking right now and I still have leftovers from yesterday I could heat up.”

“Oh yeah?” There’s surprise in her voice as well as a little hesitation, and the latter part strikes Crim as odd. It would make sense, except Blue is actually a pretty decent cook, he has to admit. Crim’s gaze lands on the back of an orange-hoodied alternate explanation. “Huh. Well, whatever it is, it smells good!” The sound of her voice gets louder until she makes an appearance in the form of poking her face into the kitchen. “Is that squash? Hey Papyrus.” Her gaze turns to him, and he detects a flicker of intensity in the set of her eyes. “Crim.”

The lizard Captain is bundled up from head to tail in multiple layers of heavy clothing, but Crim can still see the telltale straps of her leather armor peeking around her neck and wrapped around her ankles.

“‘ey Caps,” comes Slick’s lazy drawl. He doesn’t even turn around.

Crim, on the other hand, just nods.

“It’s butternut squash!” Blue says excitedly as he enters behind Alphys, mercifully diverting her attention. “It’s taken the farmers a long time to get them to grow correctly! And not only is the squash edible for most monsters, but the flowers are also really good when they’re spiced and fried!” Blue takes a breath. “And-”

The smell of something acrid hits Alphys before it reaches Crim, and definitive wrinkle lines appear all over her muzzle. “And it’s burning,” she finishes for him.

Crim can actually see the exact moment when the shocked realization crosses Blue’s face, and it’s a thing of beauty. Even better, he’s witness to the little kitchen swiftly erupting into glorious chaos around him while he hides a smug grin behind an almost-empty tea mug.

Blue is first to react, running to Slick and hurriedly chattering at him to move the pan to an unlit burner while Alphys scrambles to open a window over the sink to vent the building scent of burning vegetables.

Meanwhile, Crim crosses his ankles more comfortably under the table. He hadn’t imagined the inevitable scenario of Slick being involved in anything turning out quite like this, but he’ll happily take it over having dinner anywhere in the vicinity of the suspicious lizard monster.

Almost as if she can sense his thoughts, Alphys shoots him a dirty look as she turns around, but it quickly morphs into concern for Blue. The little skeleton is half dragging, half pushing a fairly mystified Slick across the kitchen.

“It’s fine, you still did a great job!” Blue is quick to reassure, though all it takes is a glance from Crim at the forced smile on his face to discern the amount of mortification he’s in. “The bits in the center didn’t burn, so there’s still a lot of it left to eat. So youuu,” Blue says as he deposits Slick in front of one of the kitchen cabinets, “can set the table while I finish up! Four spots, okay?”

“Uh, three actually,” Alphys interrupts, which seems to give Blue pause. She holds up her hands in the face of the pleading look he’s giving her. “Hey, in my defense, I never said I could stay! I’ve got a meeting and bunch of errands in Snowdin I still need to get done before heading home. It’s not every day I come out to this snowball town - it’s bad for the scales, heh. But!” She digs into the pocket of her overcoat and, smiling widely, produces a dog-eared envelope. “I felt it was kinda important to get this to you before next week.”

Blue gasps as he accepts it, the entire kitchen scene apparently forgotten in the face of this new information. “Is this…?”

“Haha, yep!” she says with her trademark volume. “Getting older again, so we might as well have good time of it, right?”

Blue’s entire form seems to vibrate as he looks between Alphys and the unopened envelope in his hands. “I’m so excited! Are you doing a theme this year? Who’s coming? Is there-”

Alphys laughs, cutting him off with a friendly cuff to his shoulder that sends Blue skipping to the side a step. “Read it and maybe you’ll find out! Anyway,” she says, taking a final, sweeping look around the kitchen that includes everything and everyone in it, “I have to get to that meeting. I’ll see you guys later. Specifically _you_ , nerd,” she grins at Blue. “For training tomorrow!”

“Absolutely!” he chirps, and instead of the gross attempt at puppy eyes, he’s now practically trying to push Alphys out of the house. “Now stop looking for your presents!” His voice is chiding, but it’s also filled with fresh excitement. “I’ve hid them far too well for you to even begin to guess where they might be!”

The Captain’s residual chuckling at Blue’s sudden insistence is grating but affectionate as she allows herself to be led to the door. Even on the smooth tile of the kitchen floor, he finds himself doubting that Blue could have moved Alphys at all unless she let him.

Crim overhears Blue and Alphys exchange a few mumbled words at the door before she leaves. When Blue reappears in the kitchen, he’s already reading the invitation with a thrilled expression on his face.

“Huh. Well, that was somethin’,” Crim says as Slick lays the plates out. “Guess you two are gonna have a good time,” he says with more than a little skepticism.

“Oh no, it’s not just me and Papy,” Blue says with surprise, scanning the card for what must be the fifth time before looking up at him. “You’re invited too! Here, look!”

Blue hands it over, and Crim flips the artfully hole-punched front to the information on the inside. In hand-scribed, cursive ink below the date, the party invitation is laid out in plain text:

 

_“You dorks are totally invited to my party! It’s going to be a potluck this year at my house, so bring whatever you want as long as it’s edible! ( Remember to label your nuts if you use any, we don’t want a repeat of what happened two years ago XD ) I expect to see_ _all three of you_ _there, so you better not disappoint me!_

_Birthday Lizard,_

_Alphys ‘;..;’_

_P.S. - If you guys make another cake with an awful pun on it I will shove your faces in it!!! “Dragon on in the years” wasn’t funny!!!”_

 

Crim snorts, slightly amused. He hands the card back to Blue and finishes the last third of his now cold tea.

“As said,” he says, “you two are gonna have a great time.” He stands to bring his cup to the sink.

“You’re not going?” Blue has the audacity to actually partially turn around in surprise from where he’s cleaning up the area around the stove.

“Why should I?” he says, annoyance apparent in his voice. “Just gives her more time to figure out you’re lying to her. Besides, I got a job.”

“You’re lying to Cap? Why?” Slick asks, and Crim can see how Blue immediately goes rail stiff out of the corner of his eye.

“‘Cause-” Crim starts.

“Because Crim can teleport too,” Blue quickly cuts in, his voice rising an octave. He takes an even quicker moment to shoot Crim a dirty look while Slick is staring in the direction of the door Alphys had recently exited through. There’s an almost pinched expression on the taller skeleton’s face for a whole two seconds before it fades back into the usual blank, emotionless template.

“Dunno how she’d ever figure that out,” Slick says, going back to poking at the slightly burnt food on his plate. “I mean, he looks nothing like me, and you,” he lazily points with an elbow off to the side, obviously indicating Blue, “can’t do it.”

How braindead _is_ this guy? Crim isn’t sure if there’s a singularity for how completely ignorant a monster can be, but surely Slick could be used as some sort of standard for the lowest measurement. It’s impressive, really. “Gee, I dunno,” Crim starts with all the sarcasm he’s physically capable of. “Maybe it has somethin’ to do with the fact that the skeleton monsters who currently exist tend to be one in two in the time ‘n’ space hoppin’ department.” The look Blue is shooting him now is very obviously a warning even though Slick shows no outward signs of the words affecting him.

“You mean two in three, right?” Slick asks as he pushes around a fairly large portion of squash on his plate with a fork.

Crim rolls his eyelights. “Nah, apparently I’m a ‘Mimic’.”

That actually causes Slick to crack a small, albeit real smile as he looks up at Crim. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Crim parrots right back at him, which draws a chuckle out of the taller skeleton.

Slick narrows his eyes at Crim in an exaggerated fashion. “Alright, yeah, I can see the resemblance if I squint. Cap won’t suspect a thing.”

“Fuck you too, man,” Crim shoots back, but he’s grinning.

* * *

Even though Crim tries to book a bunch of jobs for the day of the birthday, he still manages to finish the last one before the party starts. He actually arrives back at the other two’s house just as they’re about to leave. The whole place smells like something out of Muffet’s; heavy with the scent of pastries from the other two’s recent shenanigans in the kitchen.

“Oh Crim! You made it!” Blue exclaims happily when he sees him, a fairly large covered platter in his arms.

“Nah, just here to grab a bite to eat before the next job,” Crim lies.

“Oh… If you’re done before the party is, I’m sure Alphys would love for you to stop by! Um, also...” he continues, looking a bit sheepish. “The kitchen is kind of a mess, but we’re a bit pressed for time right now so I’ll clean it when we get back.”

“Ahuh,” he says, feigning disinterest.

“Okay, well, we need to leave now if we’re going to make it on time. Bye Crim!”

“Later.” Slick gives him a nod when he passes and the door closes behind them.

He listens to their slowly fading footsteps and the sound of Blue’s voice happily chattering away at Slick. They’re headed towards the Riverperson, Crim can say that for sure, but it only takes a few seconds before the footsteps can’t be heard anymore and he’s left in complete silence in the house. He sighs heavily and heads to the kitchen. Food sounds good-

“What the fuck.”

The whole thing is a bona fide disaster area.

Blue wasn’t kidding when he’d said the kitchen was a mess. In fact, he’d consider that an understatement. He isn’t sure how much of collateral damage is thanks to Slick fucking up in new and creative ways, but the sheer devastation before him could not have possibly been caused by one skeleton alone. There’s spilled milk and a broken egg on the floor, flour gloveprints all over three of the cabinets and crusting on the side of the stove, and an assortment of unidentifiable stains on a number of hand towels scattered on both the floor and counters. The window in the kitchen - also decorated with a number of white gloveprints - has been left wide open to vent the now obvious smell of almost-burnt pastries, and the sink is filled to the brim with soapy, opaque water and all manner of cooking utensils. There’s a number of sprinkles floating on the surface, and a once-white dish towel hanging halfway in there as well.

While he’s looking at the flour-dusted counter beside the sink - one of them must have spilled half a bag of it - something drips onto his skull from above. Flinching back, he sees a glob of almost-dry batter mixture on the ceiling. Taken in as a whole, it’s so terrible that it’s almost art.

However, when he realizes that he would have to literally clean the whole thing in order to cook, his irritation spikes. If he’d left shit this way before heading out, his bro would have fucking dusted him on the spot.

Crim leaves the kitchen, not feeling in the mood to spare Blue from dealing with that disaster when he comes home. Not cleaning the kitchen presents another problem though: he can’t make dinner for himself. He could go to Muffet’s, but he would rather not. Showing up to eat there more than two times a day might give people the impression that there’s another, more _emotional_ reason for him to show up that much. He would rather deal with Alphys than _those_ rumours. They would spread throughout the entire Underground with lightning speed (he’s starting to really despise phones) and he would be known as the creep with a crush on Muffet before the night is over. Dealing with the fire jokes back home was bad enough. He can’t even imagine what kind of creativity the monsters here can come up with, and he really doesn’t want to know.

Plus, he isn’t crushing on _her_. Just on her baking skills.

Crim hears Missy let out a soft sound from the bathroom, answering the deep sigh he lets out when he drops himself on the couch. The house is so quiet he can hear her claws click on the tiled floor as she untangles from whatever towel she has claimed as her own in there. She appears a minute later, letting out another, more insistent miau in his direction as she turns around the corner and appears in the open door. Her tails stands straight up and sways from side to side as she walks towards him, her eyes half-lidded. It’s like she already knows what half-formulated plan is going through his mind and has decided to join him. The little shit can probably already smell the food - he’s almost surprised she hasn’t gotten herself into the mess in the kitchen already. But then again, it’s not too mind-blowing that the cat is smarter than the two who caused the baking disaster in the first place.

“There’s gonna be a bunch of monsters there,” he tells her as she starts to rub herself all over his legs and feet. “But that just means a bunch of food too, right?” The quiet of the house and Missy’s purring are the only responses he gets.

“Okay, fine.” He sighs, like Missy just convinced him. “Let’s go.”

* * *

A quick stop at the shop later, Crim finds himself walking through Waterfall’s moist swamplands. Missy is wrapped around his neck as a furry scarf, and dangling from his left hand in a plastic bag are a few bottles of the soda he remembers Blue saying were her favorite. Each one has a nice small bow made of a green-ish ribbon - kudos to Doggo for coming up with that - and a shitty handwritten note saying happy birthday.

He stands in front of the doorway for longer than he wants to, just staring at the open metal jaws and battling his own inner hesitance. There’s clearly a party going on inside - the loud music playing in one room and the delicious scent of a couple dozen different unknown but delicious foods attest to that - but he still can’t bring himself to cross the threshold.

This is what he’d wanted, right? He was willing to risk getting caught by Alphys for… what? To avoid a little chatter about a liaison between him and Muffet? Like he cared about that, really. Was it the lack of company, then? Was he really so desperate for interaction without those two-gold knockoffs around that he was ready to jeopardize his living situation?

“Yeah, like I’m doing this for those idiots,” he mutters to himself before forcefully punching the tooth that will open the door.

As the maw begins to open before him, a wave of hesitance hits him that he tries to explain away. Alphys was probably busy with her guests. Wouldn’t notice him at all. Wouldn’t have the time to do shit about him being there-

He runs into Alphys almost immediately.

She’s just leaving her kitchen, arms full of bottles, but when she sees him, she stops. At first, disappointment flickers over her features, but it’s quickly replaced by that look Crim is beginning to expect whenever she sees him: the one that tells him without words that he had better watch his step. The look is not at all undermined by the loose-fitting, white sundress with yellow polkadots that she’s wearing.

“You came,” she says with mild surprise after looking him over, her eyes just as piercing as they were the last time he’d stood upon her doorstep. Crim finally tips over to the side of the mental fence he’d been teetering on that knew this was a mistake from the beginning. He would have turned tail then and there if not for the fact he’d committed himself to this the moment he’d knocked on Alphys’ proverbial door, and now that she’s seen him, he can’t run.

“Yep,” he says, donning his best poker face.

Alphys seems to have come to some inner decision, and her poise of blatant mistrust warps into an amused smile. “Well then close the damned door; you’re letting all the humidity out.”

She leaves him standing in the hall and Crim sees her carrying the bottles to a table in the living room. He punches the door closed as she asked, but when he enters the living room, everybody seems to turn and stare at him. It makes chills run down his spine, but instead of showing all of them how uncomfortable it makes him, he sends them a vicious grin before grabbing the first bottle he can get his hands on from the drink table. He makes his escape by going to the gift table and putting down the bag with his gift. When he turns around again, people have mostly gone back to doing whatever they were doing before.

Crim finds himself a good spot at the edge of the room, leaning against a wall. He hasn’t seen Slick or Blue yet, but he can clearly hear Blue’s obnoxiously pitched shouting, saying something about justice off to his right. Blue’s words are slurred, making Crim smile. The little fucker is drunk. That’s hilarious.

As he listens to Blue challenge whoever pissed him off to a duel, Crim feels a strange tingle on his left side. Missy is completely still, purring softly on his shoulders, so he’s sure it’s not her tail. When he turns to look he finds half the room staring at him again. Most of them quickly look away when they’re caught in the act, but there’s a few who couldn’t care less. They keep looking at him like they’ve never seen a skeleton monster before.

“Take a picture, douchebag,” he calls out to one of them - a crocodile-like monster with bright pink nail polish - who’s still staring, “it’ll last longer.” The monster finally looks away, their expression tight like Crim offended them. Crim just snorts with amusement.

He glances around the room again. He finds five monsters giving him the same strange look as the one before - like they’re studying him. Three of them are whispering together and one even points a finger at him.

Yeah okay, fuck this. He came and that’ll have to be enough.

He almost reaches the door without anyone stopping him, almost makes it outside. Once he escapes into the hallway and the party guests’ view of him is blocked, he’s sure he’ll make it. However, the moment he punches the tooth to open the door, clawed fingers dig into his shoulder. There’s a warning ‘mrrr’ from the kitten that goes completely ignored.

“Leaving already?” It’s Alphys. Of fucking course.

“I got a job,” he tries, but Alphys sees straight through him.

“Drop the act,” she says in a dangerous tone. She pulls at his shoulder, causing Missy to hiss and swipe at the offending hand, but forcing him to turn around to face her. He pushes her hand away, giving her a glare both for the force and for the fact that he now has three sets of upset kitten claws scratching straight through two layers of clothing. “You might have fooled Sans, but you can’t fool me. Your flimsy sham has too many holes; I hear about _everything_ that happens under this mountain and I’m making it part of my job to figure out exactly _who_ and _what_ you are. Now _start talking._ ”

“Jeez, fuck, okay.” Crim pauses for a moment, considering, and then shakes his head. He glances towards the living room door and the monsters still having a blast in there. No one have noticed their little conversation here yet - or they are ignoring it. “And I thought today couldn’t turn into more of a shitshow. A’ight, how much do ya know about multiverse theory?”

“I’ve heard of it,” she says impatiently, still regarding him with unnerving intensity.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So, there’s here and there’s…” He waves a hand off in no particular direction. “Uh, _there-_ ”

“Let me guess,” Alphys cuts in with a very unamused expression. “You’re some kind of weird agent from another dimension sent here to perform some vague and largely unsuccessful task?” She snorts at Crim’s annoyed expression. “Yeah, alright, someone watches too many movies. Seriously, did you sneak out here from the Capital, Al Cabone? There are two,” she holds up two claws, stalling Crim in his explanation, “and only two skeletons left in the Underground, and I know both of them. I don’t know what species you are, but you can’t be a skeleton and you sure as hell aren’t a Mimic.”

“Lady, I’m all skeleton, no bullshit,” he says, staring her straight in the eyes.

She doesn’t waver from his challenge. If anything, she shows more teeth when she speaks. “Alright, tough guy. Prove it.”

“And how do you expect me to do that? Drop my pants?” Crim snarks.

"As generous as the offer is, _no_ ." He didn't think it was possible, but the instant repulsion on her face makes her look even more peeved. "Holy shit, do I have to spell it out for you? Fine: _use your magic_ . There's no way to fake a monster's natural magic," she explains shortly. " _If_ you're a skeleton, it should have a very specific look to it."

“Oh, just use my magic?” Crim asks, the edge of sarcasm slipping its way into his voice easily. “What do you expect me to do here? Attack you?”

“Sure, you could do that.” Alphys says with deadpan seriousness, stumbling his response. They look at each other, Alphys with a raised eyebrow and Crim not believing what he’s hearing. After another beat of silence, Crim finally snorts, shaking his head.

“Fine, have it your way lady,” he says. He pulls on his magic and it flows through his body, filling him with an eager hum of power he’s been missing. His eyelights bleed into red and when he looks up at Alphys again she places both her hands on her hips, her expression impatient.

The solid, familiar feeling of a bone coalesces in his hand from the magic condensing around it. Once it’s fully formed, it’s no more than a foot long and has a sharpened end. He holds it out towards her and this time it’s him lifting a browbone, waiting for her reaction.

Alphys stares at the construct for a long time, face a stony mask as she takes it in.

“Why are you here?” she finally asks. Her stern tone of voice doesn’t change, but Crim calms a bit when he notices some of the anger leaving her expression. He lets the bone dagger in his hand dissolve once she stops staring at it, but he doesn’t let his magic rest just yet. After all, she asked for a show and he doesn’t trust her reaction.

“Got stuck,” he answers. “Wasn’t exactly part of my plan.”

“And what plan would that be?” Crim sighs loudly. What’s with these people and poking their noses in his business?

“I fucked up workin’ on some tech for the Royal Scientist back home.” The lie comes easily to him and without knowing why, he runs with it. He manages to deliver it with just the right amount of irritation it needs to make it believable. “I touched a thing that wasn’t supposed to be touched and next thing I know I’m crash landing in this shithole. So the “plan” was simple: don’t fucking leave in the first place. This ain’t exactly somewhere I want to stay.”

Judging by the conflicted look on her face, she seems torn between personal indignation for her universe and the importance of the topic at hand. In any other situation, he would have found it hilarious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Too many people askin’ questions they won’t believe the answers to, for one.” Crim gives her a very pointed look.

“That’s fair,” she admits grudgingly, but then changes tracks. “But why lie if the story is so outlandish no one would have believed it anyway?”

“That’s all Blue,” Crim decides to answer truthfully. Let that little shit explain that one. “He didn’t wanna tell the truth, and since I’m crashing on his couch I decided to keep my mouth shut.”

“Hmm.” Her hum sounds thoughtful, calculating. Her eyes scan him again, sticking a little longer to his smouldering red eyelights than the rest. The intense scrutiny makes him uncomfortable; he doubts those eyes miss anything.

“Can I go now, _Captain_?” Crim asks, not bothering to hide neither the bite in his voice, nor the exasperation. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he turns away.

“Crim,” Alphys calls when he walks through the door. Crim only stops because he doesn’t want to risk being fried between the teeth of her doorway. He’s guessing she was smart to have those things made out of conductive metal.

“I’m going to ask Sans what your LV is. Am I going to hear something I won’t like?”

“Depends on what that is,” Crim answers. He looks over his shoulder and finds Alphys standing just inside the door where he left her, arms crossed over her chest.

She searches his face again for a few moments before she unfolds her arms and points a forefinger at him. “You don’t hurt anyone while you’re here, you got that?” she says. “If I get even the tiniest report of someone being bothered by you, you won’t like what happens next.”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Crim assures her, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I’m basically an angel compared to the rest of my universe.” She doesn’t offer any reply and Crim doesn’t wait around for one. Instead he makes a straight left turn, knowing it won’t take him anywhere other than to the stone wall of the cave. As soon as he’s hidden behind the wall of her house, he pulls on his magic. As he sees his destination in his mind, he hears her call out to him. Her reaction makes him smile, because he knows that he’ll be gone long before she comes around the corner, and she won’t know how he disappeared. _Try to figure that one out, O Mighty Captain._

His magic wraps around him and after the familiar pull on his soul he steps forward. The soles of his boots sink into a soft layer of fresh snow and the heavy moisture of Waterfall snaps into an icy cold swirl of air around him. Dots of white are falling around him, their decent looking almost lazy in its slowness. In the darkness they appear different than they do in the light of the town. Here they are illuminated by the soft, dying glow of the Snowdin cave crystals, giving them a blue-ish shine, just as they had in his own world.

The clearing he stands in are no more than twenty feet wide, a noticeable difference than from what he’s used to. In his universe he made sure to cut down several of the trees to improve the visibility, but here the clearing is still framed by thick undergrowth and tall trees. Most noticeable of these are the berry bushes heavy with fruit scattered all over the forest floor. He sees red, black and blue on the bushes, but he has no idea if any of them are edible. In his universe, wild food sources like that were torn apart and exhausted decades ago. He remembers his mom telling him stories about the sweetness of red berries and warning him not to eat anything from the wild that he wasn’t completely sure of. After all, it’s easy enough to plant something deadly poisonous in places where the ignorant won’t notice the difference.

Exactly as in his universe, he finds a tree stump in the middle of the clearing. If it weren’t for the grounding movements of Missy trying to burrow into his jacket, he would have thought he’d accidentally made his way home.

Covered with a dusting of fresh snow, it’s no more than three feet wide but slightly curved on one side and just tall enough to make it a comfortable seat. When he brushes it off and sits down, he’s overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia: It feels exactly like he remembers. He leans back, placing his hands on the stump behind his back to support his weight. He turns his face towards the ceiling and he breathes in deeply, taking in the spicy scents of the pine surrounding him, the sweetness of the berries and the fresh, watery scent of the river nearby. The icy feel to the air is invigorating after Waterfall’s murky atmosphere, and it fills him with a peace he hasn’t felt in weeks.

Two weeks, in fact.

And with that thought, the easy serenity vanishes. It _has_ been more than a couple weeks now, but the guilt staining his thoughts is just as prevalent now as it had been when he’d arrived, terrible and crippling whenever it managed to seep through. It’s bad enough that he can almost imagine the gruff voice of his brother yelling from beyond the clearing to get his sorry ass home.

But Crim looks in the direction of the tree-obscured river and sees neither bark nor a glimpse of the chilly water flashing in the dim lighting. His eyelights are fixated beyond either of those things, locked onto something even more distant.

Was Papyrus even still searching for him? After this much time, most monsters would have given up. There are so many ways to dust in his universe - with many leaving no tracks and no trace - that a disappearance like his wouldn’t have given many a second thought.

But this was Papyrus he’s talking about. Stubborn, cynical, determined Papyrus who never knows when to quit when the quitting is good. He would never have given up that easily, Crim thinks, soul straining. No matter what he’d said before Crim had left - stupid, idiotic, drunken mistake that was - he would have kept looking even after everyone thought he was crazy, until there was nowhere left in the Underground to scour. He would have searched in frantic hope and denial until he dropped from exhaustion, forced to give up in the face of impossible odds.

Forced to believe that Crim is dead and he’s alone in an Underground that doesn’t give so much as a shit about him.

Perhaps the worst part of knowing all this is that there is nothing he can do.

Imagining his brother doing the most mundane of things in the quietude of their shared home is almost enough to break him. Papyrus sitting in the same spots and walking the same steps simultaneously as him. Papyrus looking through one of the fortified windows and wondering on whose barbed edge of magic Crim had ended up on. Fuck, he could be right here, right now, one shitty ‘port off to the left and staring at this very strump, and Crim would never know. The thought leaves him feeling empty and helpless.

The only thing he _does_ know is that he has to bide his time, and he clings to that. He clings to that fact with his entire being, tells himself that soon enough he’d be able to get home, apologize to his brother for fucking up again, and life will continue where it left off.

Reflexively, he places a hand on the front of his jacket, just over his soul, and almost jumps when Missy wriggles under his palm to nuzzle it. He thumbs what he thinks is the top of her head through the material and receives a muffled purr in return.

He sighs. “Yeah,” he says a bit huskily, breaking the stillness of the forest at her prompting. “Fuck if it ain’t easy.”


	8. The Middle Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> We're finally out of the set-up chapters and now we're beginning to get into the meat of the story. It's so exciting and we can't wait to show you everything we've been working so hard on! For those who have been craving that honeymustard - strap in. It's coming. ;)  
> Thank you for going on this journey with us and for your constant feedback and support. It's so incredible to read all your comments and we love every single one of them. We're having a blast working on the later chapters to get this story finished for you, so we'll go back to that while you enjoy this update. Have fun!
> 
> \- _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** and **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_

## ~ Chapter Eight ~  
The Middle Distance

 

_Tell me what your waiting for_  
_Show me what your aiming for_  
_What you gonna save it for?_  
_So what you really waiting for?_

_Everybody's gonna make mistakes_  
_But everybody's got a choice to make_  
_Everybody needs a leap of faith_  
_When are you taking yours?_

_What are you waiting for?_

[ _“What are you waiting for?”_ by Nickelback ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-Ng5muAAcg)

* * *

 

Crim wakes up in the early hours of the morning a few weeks later, so early that even Blue is still fast asleep in his room. The kitchen is dark and quiet when Crim sneaks his way out there, the only sound being the low hum of the fridge penetrating the silence. He doesn’t go for the fridge or any of the cabinets, but just stops at the table and looks around for a few moments, taking it in while he breathes slowly.

The bag he places on the counter is medium in size and filled to the brim with the remaining gold from his jobs. His pocket hides a smaller pouch he will be taking with him to pay off his debts, but he has no use for this much gold when he returns home. It would just make him an even bigger target and he has no desire to make life harder for himself and his brother. Leaving it for Blue isn’t charity, he tells himself. It’s paying off his debt to the smaller skeleton. He owes Blue more than the small part of the rent he was allowed to help pay, for letting Crim stay in his and Slick’s home. 

He leaves the house quietly, not looking back. The two doors on the second floor are both closed, he knows that. There’s no point in checking again he tells himself.

Muffet’s Café comes into view quickly, windows lit up with warm golden light as always, inviting the occasional nightly wanderer inside. Crim’s not surprised to see Muffet herself at the bar when he enters, knowing she prefers the dark, colder hours of the night. 

“Hello dearie,” she greets him, her gaze drawn towards the sound of the door opening. He notices the surprise in her expression and doesn’t miss her glancing towards the clock on her wall. It’s closing in on 4AM, as he is very much aware of, and it’s very unusual for him to be upright, much less awake.

“Heya Muf.” He keeps his voice low, even though there’s no reason to. He’s the only monster in the café aside from Muffet herself, but something makes his voice refuse to gain any kind of strength. 

“What brings you here at this time of night dearie?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Crim lies easily, half-shrugging. He sees Muffet search his upper body for any signs of Missy, but he knows she won’t find any of the usual lumps under his jacket where she likes to hide. The cat is back at the house, where she should be sleeping as deeply as the rest of the household. If Crim knows her right, she’s probably curled up on the foot end of Slick’s bed right now.

Muffet wrinkles her forehead, but doesn’t mention the obviously missing cat. Crim hasn’t been seen without Missy ever since he found her, but he hopes Muffet will just assume it’s because it’s late and that’s why the kitten isn’t with him now. 

Instead of commenting on it, she instead leans her hip against the counter and gives him this look he can’t really decipher. “What can I do for you, Crim?” she asks.

“How about a nice glass of cider?” he asks as he sits down on his usual stool and rests an elbow on the counter. He leans his head against his fist and watches as Muffet prepares his drink with ease. The jukebox in the corner is quiet, playing one of the softer tracks in its system. It adds to the calmness of the moment and Crim sighs deeply as he looks around.

“Bad dream?” Muffet asks when she serves him his drink. As always, the small plate she places next to his glass has a pastry he doesn’t know on it. His soul swells a bit at the implications of that action, what it means that she keeps doing this without him having to ask, but he doesn’t let the thought linger in his mind. He gives her a grateful smile before he pulls the plate closer. 

The pastry is still warm when he picks it up, which is a pleasant surprise. 

“Nah,” he answers her. “Just woke up and couldn’t fall asleep again.” He bites into the pastry before she says anything else, effectively postponing any further questions. 

Turns out it wasn’t needed. Muffet leaves him to eat in peace while she busies herself in the kitchen. She leaves the door open though, something Crim has never seen before. His curiosity makes him glance out there more often than not, and eventually he abandons all pretense of not snooping and does exactly that. All Muffet does when he moves to another stool that makes it easier for him to see the room is smile to herself. Her hands keep working the dough between them, kneading it into perfection.

Once he has looked his fill, he turns his eyes on the café itself. He follows the movements of the tiny spiders as they march over tables and up walls to prepare the room for when morning comes. When he sees them vanish under the ceiling decoration, a chill runs down his spine, but it’s easy to ignore it by reminding himself that this Muffet is nothing like the one from his world that he’s heard stories about.

Muffet returns to the bar while Crim is taking it all in. He feels her eyes on the side of his face and sees the small, sad smile from the corner of his eye, but she stays quiet. His glass is empty and the pastry gone, and when she takes them both to clean, he decides it’s time to go.

He taps a few fingers on the counter before jumping off the stool. “I’ll see ya around, Muf,” he says to her. His hands find their way into his jacket pockets after he drops payment for his treat on the counter. He walks towards the door, but before he reaches it, Muffet calls out to him. 

“You know you can come back anytime you want, right dearie?” Crim pauses at the door, hand hovering an inch from the polished glass. It’s weird, the way she says it. Weird enough for Crim to cast a glance over his shoulder, looking back at her. She’s smiling softly at him and she winks as she gives him a small wave, like she’s saying goodbye to him too.

“Heh, you know me Muf,” he tells her, reaching for his humor. Everybody in this universe kind of knows it’s his trademark way of reacting to everything by now, so why not use it one last time? “Can’t resist your baked goods for long.” He leaves it at that and finally pushes the glass door open, letting in an icy cold rush of night air. He doesn’t hear anything else from Muffet and he doesn’t look back. He’s said his goodbyes.

He drags his feet on his way back to the house. Every step feels final in a way he hadn’t imagined it would, one step closer to leaving all this behind. A tight feeling grows in his chest and it makes him lift his head so he can take in the surroundings one last time. 

This version of Snowdin has felt strange to him ever since he arrived, and he finally realizes why. That slightly  _ off _ feeling that kept nagging at the back of his mind. He realizes it’s not something this Snowdin has that his doesn’t, but rather that it’s something he’s missing from himself. It’s what makes walking through the streets feel so eerie to him. 

He’s not afraid. There’s no weight in his belly, no tight ball of nerves strangling his soul. Not once on this trip has he looked over his shoulder to check for shadows behind him. Not once has he spared his safety a thought, or worried about what horrors he might find when he reaches his front door. In this universe there’s no need to worry about that and it’s  _ strange _ . What’s even more strange is the fact that he kind of misses the sting of worry in his soul and the spike of adrenaline that makes his magic rush through him. It’s a feeling he kind of loves. The feeling of lacking something makes him uneasy and he tries to shake it off. It’ll be gone soon enough.

The house stands exactly like it did when he left just an hour ago, with dark windows and a closed door. He stops near the mailboxes and turns his eyes towards the second floor. There’s no sign of life up there, exactly like he expected. For some reason that makes a mild coldness spread in his soul that he can’t quite understand.

It’s been a long time coming. He knows this. Long days bled into long weeks which congealed into a long, exhausting month of waiting, all panning out to this very moment. He’s been very careful about steeling himself against this universe’s soft ways and tried to avoid becoming complacent. He’s paid off his debts. Done right by his hosts. Avoided making ‘friends’. Kept his promises. This place holds nothing for him now, he tells himself.  _ Nothing. _

He looks around himself one last time, takes in the sleeping town and breathes in the peace and quiet of this universe in a final deep breath. The house next to him receives the absolute final glance and the sight of it’s perfect, polished exterior makes him smile. Soon, that house will be battered and broken. There will be iron bars covering the windows, traps hiding under every small rock and bush, and a sign on the front door telling strangers to stay away unless they want a painful, slow death.

He can’t wait to get back home. He’s  _ so close  _ he can almost hear his brother scold him for disappearing for a month without letting him know where he went.

“Take care of them Missy,” Crim tells the shadowy figure sitting in the left second floor window. He ignores the small noises of distress that manage to reach him down on the street and turns his back to the house. He’s ready.

His magic reacts easily when he pulls at it, rushing to his aid like the faithful servant it is. It hums through his bones, hot and biting exactly like he remembers it. His vision bleeds into red and he welcomes the familiar blindness on the edges of his vision like an old friend.

Aiming his magic has never been an issue before, but there’s a tiny stab of worry in his soul that unsettles him. It’s enough to make him nervous, but not enough to deter him. He pulls the magic around him, its crackling energy electrifying the air with its power. He closes his eyes and sees the spot in his backyard before his inner eye before he steps forward. A loud clash of thunder and a bright flash of red light marks his departure. Crim feels his magic drain rapidly, but already before he lands, he knows it’s nowhere near rapidly enough.

He’s lying on his back in the cold snow, staring up at the high, misty ceiling of Snowdin’s cavern when he opens his eyes again. There’s a calming serenity to the rolling of the false clouds overhead that’s gratingly alien to him. Or rather, that  _ he’s _ alien to _.  _ His universe is perpetually darker, and holds an indescribable tension in the air that this cloyingly sweet one can’t even seem to comprehend.

He’s gone  _ nowhere. _

But instead of giving into rampant frustration over his failure and the heavy lump of emotion building in his throat, Crim simply lets the tickle of new snowflakes drift down and speckle his black jacket in splotches of stark white. He doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to think. Lying limply in the cold stretch of snow with his eyelights guttered into blackness, he only wants to stave off his crushing disappointment for just a while longer.

He doesn’t react when he distantly hears the crunching of boots on the fresh padding of white, or even when his peripheral vision picks up movement. The steps are slow, but pick up their pace by a fraction as they get louder. He knows the stride well, but he just can’t seem to muster up the effort to don his usual facade right now. More tired than he’s been for a long time, the only thing he has any will to do is breathe. And so he does. He takes shallow breaths as the other approaches, hovers above him for a few seconds, and finally lies down in the snow on Crim’s right. He can hear the fabric of Slick’s hoodie folding up against itself as the guy stuffs his hands in the front pockets.

Wordlessly, they both lay like that for an indeterminate number of minutes until Crim produces a hollow sigh. The cold is starting to seep into his bones and the drain on his magic has left him feeling empty once again.

“Didn’t work,” he finally mutters, words as hushed as the whisper of wind making the clouds above slide past the “sky”. He hears the soft rustle of snow next to him. “Why?” The single word escapes him in a plume of frozen breath. He isn’t even sure who or what he’s questioning for a moment. Slick? Himself? Perhaps the multiverse as a whole? He doesn’t expect an answer. Hell, perhaps there isn’t one.

It would be just his luck to be left stuck and floundering in a foreign universe forever because of a single past mistake that he can’t replicate. It’s hilarious, honestly. He’s been so good at making mistakes, but obviously not the same one twice. The “rule of fuckups”, he’d said on the day he arrived here, hungover and exhausted. It’s proved itself remarkably true time and time again during his stay.

A soft voice interrupts his thoughts, but he has no energy left to flinch with. He blinks, and small, weak and almost pinpoint white eyelights return to his sockets. They slide over as he turns his head almost imperceptibly towards the right. He can just barely make out Slick’s concerned expression. After a few seconds of blankness from Crim’s direction, the other repeats himself.

“Did it feel the same?”

Crim’s faint eyelights linger on the other skeleton’s face for a few additional moments before he turns his attention back towards the hidden roof of the cavern.

“The ‘port? Yeah. Minus the hangover, ‘course.” His voice feels stale, with an undertone of disgust. If only he hadn’t...

“No,” Slick says slowly. “I mean... Did you have the same feeling from when you did it the first time?”

“Yeah,” Crim repeats with a spark of frustration. The fuck is he getting at? “It sucks. I’m tired as hell.”

There’s a scuffing noise as the snow to his right is shoved around a bit from Slick moving his legs. When the other skeleton speaks again, his voice holds nothing but patience. 

“Emotionally, Crim. Not physically.” Crim’s eyelights flick between a series of individual, falling snowflakes as he digests that, and the other keeps talking in the face of his continued silence. “I’m asking if you felt the same in your soul as you did before you got here.”

For a few eternal moments, the peaceful rush of the nearby river and the quiet breathing of the two skeletons are the only sounds in the crisp Snowdin air. Crim’s hands slowly find their respective ways into his jacket pockets. He doesn’t even need to think about it - the heavy weight of his brother’s words come unbidden, ringing clearly in his skull:

_ “Calling you my brother is the most humiliating thing I have to do on a daily basis.” _

His fists involuntarily clench into the soft pocket lining as a wave of self-directed loathing washes over him. He can easily recall what he felt the first time - the intense desire to get  _ away _ , the  _ anguish _ \- amidst a yawning canyon of  _ guilt  _ in his soul. The whole argument has been on replay in his head every night since he’d left.

“Then no,” he finally grates out between his teeth. He sits up to press a gloved palm to the center of his forehead, and a minor cascade of snow flutters off his jacket and onto his lap. “It’s not the fucking same.”

“There’s your problem, then,” Slick says in his version of a hopeful tone. All it does for Crim is exacerbate a cold-induced throb that promises the beginning of an awful migraine. “If you can get back to that feeling, you can make it-”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Crim interrupts him in a scathing voice that seems to take the other completely off guard. “Don’t patronize me, you nosy orange  _ pissfuck _ .” He pins Slick’s surprised look with a narrow-eyed glare. “Despite all stars-damned evidence to the contrary, I  _ know _ how magic works. I didn’t start using it yesterday.” He holds the glare for another second before he looks away, this time rubbing both palms into the ridges above his eyesockets. “I can’t fucking replicate it,” he mutters no less irritably.

The silence descends around them, the heaviness of it pressing on Crim’s shoulders. There’s a pulsating pain spreading from his soul, nibbling at his insides and scratching at his skull. The world seems to stutter around him as he gets to his feet. His vision flickers and he rubs his forehead with a palm, trying to soothe the pressure on the other side of his skull. His legs tremble, but he has to move. The crushing weight of reality is wrapping around his soul and he’s feeling a fit of hysteria coming on. He needs the repetitive motion of walking to keep his mind clear and his determination strong. It’s  _ not _ a failure - just a minor setback, he tells himself. Next time he’ll be ready.

Next time he  _ will _ succeed. He just needs more magic. He didn’t wait long enough.

Slick leans on an elbow when Crim starts walking back towards the town. “Where you headed?” 

“Back to work,” Crim lies easily. “Got a client waiting.” He hears the crunch of snow behind him and moments later Slick is at his side, his long stride easily letting him catch up to Crim. 

“Wanna come hang at Muffet’s for a bit? Warm up?” 

“I have a client,” Crim lies again, forcing an edge of annoyance into his voice that he’s not feeling. Slick glances at him from the corner of his eye and places a cigarette between his teeth. 

“Mmh hmm,” he just hums over the soft  _ click-click-click _ of his lighter. Once the cigarette is lit, he inhales deeply. The smoke leaves his mouth in soft curls and rings before he turns his gaze fully towards Crim. “Sure, if that’s the lie you wanna run with. But I know for a fact you cleared out all your orders this week. Last one was last night.” 

“What’re you, a stalker?” Crim growls. 

“Nah.” Slick sniffs and scratches his chin. “Just best buds with the woman that literally has eyes and ears everywhere.” 

Crim growls again, lower and deeper. Of course.  _ Muffet _ .

“Listen, you don’t have lie to me. I under-” 

“Shut the fuck up right now,” Crim snaps at him. “I’m not some fucking delicate baby that needs  _ cuddles _ just ‘cause the multiverse fucked me over.” 

“Not what I’m trying to say.” 

“Then just fuckin’  _ get it over with. _ ” He’s nearly at the end of his patience with Slick’s shit and whatever this pity party is that he’s trying to throw.

“All I’m trying to say is that I know being empty for magic sucks and I’m offering to buy you breakfast, to get some juice back into you.” Slick lets his offer hover in the air, letting Crim stew in his surprise.

“Fine,” Crim finally says. “But I ain’t a cheap date.” 

Slick’s mouth twitches in what Crim has learned to interpret as a smile. “Didn’t expect you to be.”


	9. The Burdens We Carry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****
> 
> ## CHAPTER WARNING
> 
> **This chapter is written from the perspective of a depressed character. If you are triggered by reading about others struggles and emotional pain or anything else of that sort, please _don't put yourself in danger_. Come to us and ask for a quick and safe summary of what happens in this chapter. Stay safe!  <3**

## ~ Chapter Nine ~  
**The Burdens We Carry**

 

_“Face down in the desert now there’s a cage locked around my heart_  
_I found a way to drop the keys where my failures were_  
_Now my hands can’t reach that far”_

_[“Brother” by NEEDTOBREATHE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61Wm_qlVD4Q) _

**_Slick's POV_ **

* * *

 

Papyrus is ripped from his slumber sometime during the late afternoon to the sound of stomping footsteps and the front door slamming shut. He starts at first, but the tension soon drains out of him again. He lifts his head just enough to see his brother and Crim in the doorway amidst taking off their shoes. He relaxes, letting his body sink into the soft couch again. His sockets are refusing to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time and after a bit he stops trying to fight their heaviness.

“It was a _puzzle_!” Sans exclaim with exasperation. Papyrus can almost see his hands make gestures in the air before his inner eye.

“This is a _bomb_ , pal,” he hears Crim answer. “You were building a _trap._ ”

“And what would _you_ know of puzzles?” Sans retorts.

“Who do you think helped my bro make alla his, huh? Know what, don’t answer that. Here… See this little thing? Poke it, _I dare you_.”

“No!” Sans gasps.

“Aw come on, it’ll only tickle a bit…” There’s a hint of laughter in Crim’s voice.

“NO DON’T!”

“Oh, what’s the matter? If it’s not a bomb then I don’t see a problem in-”

“ _Will you stop touching that?!”_

“You ready to admit it’s a damn bomb now then?” There’s a tense pause from his brother’s side before he sighs loudly.

“It was an accident! It was supposed to be a triggered release for the **_puzzle_ ** , but it just somehow ended up being a tiny bit dangerous instead. _But I’ll fix it_.”

“A tiny bit dangerous?” Crim’s laugh sounds hollow. “Buddy, that thing could fuckin’ level Snowdin.”

“Language!” Sans fires back in the absence of any sort of comeback.

“Hey bro.” Since it’s obvious that he wasn’t going to get any more actual sleep while those two are bickering, Papyrus decides to make his presence known by finally dragging himself up. He throws his arms over the back of the couch and leans his chin against them, battling sockets that still won’t quite stay open. “Where’ve you been?” The question leaves his mouth before he understands why he’s asking, and it’s only a few seconds later his vision fixates on the window, noticing the darkness that’s lowering over Snowdin. Sans has been out later than usual.

“Stuck, that’s where,” Crim answers with lightning speed, before Sans can even open his mouth. Crim wanders over and drops himself on the couch where Papyrus’ leg had been just seconds prior with a deep sigh.

“I was _working_ ,” Sans corrects Crim in a huff before he vanishes into the kitchen. Moments later they hear him move pots and pans around, no doubt starting dinner.

“So, you rescued him again?” he asks after a short silence.

“Kid got stuck in his own damn trap,” Crim responds. “You were out cold, so I answered your phone.” His phone appears from Crim’s pocket and lands on Papyrus’ chest where it slides down on the couch itself, coming to a rest next to his hips.

“He’s gotten better about that since he was younger, you know,” Papyrus recalls with a yawn. “It used to be every other week instead of once a month.”

“PAPY NO,” Sans says in a shrill voice from the kitchen.

“That explains it,” he chuckles, mind full of memories. “He pouted for the rest of the day back then, too.”

Sans stomps in and sternly taps him on the top of the head with a wooden spoon, leaving a splotch of tomato sauce on the bone. “NO. BAD.” The glare that’s being levelled at him is deflected easily with the goofy smile covering his face.

“I’m going to go put this spoon away. If you’re still talking when I get back…” One hand on a hip, Sans waggles a threatening finger directly in front of his face. This only causes the tall skeleton to reach up and poke it affectionately.

“I would never,” he drawls, giving his brother a mischievous smile. Sans dramatically rolls his eyelights and leaves the room. The very _second_ he’s gone, however, Papyrus continues.

“Even before he was interested in puzzles, he got stuck in other things. Like this one time, he got locked in a cabinet-”

“PAPY!” Over Crim’s snort of amusement comes the undignified screech, and a grey blur flies across the room to plaster gloved hands across Slick’s face. “No!!!” Slick just smiles lazily at his brother as he’s scolded.

* * *

“I’m worried about him.”

It’s a little after noon and they’re in the middle of lunch when Sans breaks the silence between them. Crim hasn’t shown up, but it’s not a huge surprise for either of them. Their houseguest rarely joins them for meals, so it shouldn’t worry his brother that Crim didn’t show up. Besides, Papyrus has a fairly good idea where Crim is spending his lunch break - and that just reminds him that he has forgotten to ask Muffet about that. _Again._ Why does she seem so friendly towards Crim? It’s been bugging him that he can’t figure out why.

“Why?” he asks, knowing his brother is expecting some kind of answer.

“Haven’t you noticed?” Sans asks. The pitch of his voice rises a bit, as does the volume. He even leans over the table and looks expectantly at Papyrus. “He’s been getting more and more angry, like something is wrong. He never makes jokes anymore, either. I think something is troubling him.”

“You could ask him,” Papyrus suggests with a shrug. Sans shakes his head at that and leans back again. He sighs loudly before poking at the pieces of food leftover on his plate with his fork.

“I’ve tried, but he just brushes me off every time.” Papyrus watches as Sans’ face falls. His brother sighs deeply and it’s not hard to read the disappointment on his face. Its appearance just serves to annoy Papyrus, but he squashes that reaction as quickly as possible. His brother’s desire to save everybody shouldn’t make him feel annoyed, but rather proud that Sans has so much love in his soul that he can easily take on the suffering of others.

“If he doesn’t want to talk you can’t force him to,” Papyrus finally says, looking down at his own almost untouched plate of food. It looks just as unappetizing to him now as it did when it was first served to him. He can barely name three things on it.

“I know,” Sans says, sounding sad. “I just wish he would let me help.”

* * *

Sans’ words stay with Papyrus for the rest of the day. He just can’t shake the feeling growing in his chest and every time he looks at his brother, it gets worse. Somewhere around early evening, it reaches a point where he almost can’t stand pretending that nothing is wrong.

After dinner he doesn’t go to his room as he usually does. For some reason he feels restless and just can’t stand the thought of lying up there by himself tonight. Instead, he joins the two others on the couch for some late night TV.

“What’s up?” Papyrus asks when Crim sighs for the fifth time in the same amount of minutes. Crim answers with a grunt and a glance in Papyrus’ direction. “What’s on your mind?” Papyrus tries again.

“Nothin’.” Papyrus hadn’t exactly expected to get an answer, but the one word response pokes at that annoyance from earlier.

“You’ve been sighing all night,” Papyrus points out. “People usually don’t do that if they don’t have something they want to say.”

“M’just tired,” Crim says. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been kinda busy lately.”

“Sure,” Papyrus says slowly, shrugging. “It has nothing to do with what happened last week.”

“What happened last week?” Sans asks curiously just as Crim levels Papyrus with a deadly glare.

“ _Nothing_ happened last week,” Crim is quick to answer. “Your bro is imagining things.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Crim. It happens to all of us. Magic just doesn’t work like we want it to sometimes.”

“I’m not embarrassed!” Crim snaps immediately, showing a lot more teeth than usual in his aggravation.

“Sure,” Papyrus just says, allowing Crim’s reaction to speak for itself.

“Know what?” Crim says as he throws up his hands. “I ain’t having this conversation.”

“I’m not saying it because I want you to feel bad,” Papyrus says quickly before Crim even tries to get up from the couch they’re sharing. “I just want to help you feel better.”

“I feel fine.”

“No you don’t. Sans has noticed too.” Crim shifts his glare to Sans, and the expression on his face turns accusatory.

“I don’t need your _pity_.”

“It’s not pity,” Sans cuts in. “We’re just worried about you.”

“Well spare me, I don’t need your worry either.”

“You’re so negative all the time,” Papyrus says. “You should try lighting up once in awhile. So it didn’t work out this time,” he shrugs. “So what? Next time you’ll know more than you did before, and it’ll probably work out fine.”

“Not all of us can be as positive as you, _sunshine_ ,” Crim mocks. Papyrus ignores the attempt at agitating him.

“Is it your brother you’re worried about?” Papyrus asks. “Because I’m sure he’ll understand when you tell him what happened.”

Papyrus can see how Crim stiffens visibly at the words, but he marks that as well as the ugly expression on his face down to the other once again trying to escape from a conversation that needs to happen.

“Just leave me the fuck alone,” Crim says, his voice low and stony. He tries to stand, but he’s stopped by the couch and Papyrus leaning over so he can’t get up.

“Aw, come on. You can’t keep doing this. You’ll make us feel bad too.” Papyrus says it as an attempt to make Crim understand, dropping all pretense that he’s doing this to help Crim. The hand he places on Crim’s shoulder is a mystery to him too. He doesn’t know why he does it.

He’s in no way prepared for what happens next.

“That’s fuckin’ rich coming from _you_ ,” Crim snaps. Papyrus startles when Crim shoves him away with a solid push to the chest. He falls into the armrest behind him, the wood and stuffing under the worn fabric cutting into his ribs. Sans is behind him seconds later, his hands coming to rest heavily on his shoulders.

“Hey!” Sans exclaims. Crim completely ignores him in favor of stabbing an accusing finger in Papyrus’ face.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, you know that? You can’t even control your own damn aura! You just waltz around all over the place with that _void_ around you without giving a fuck about anybody else, and you have the damn audacity to tell _me_ to cheer up?” He lets out a low, derisive sound that makes Papyrus cringe.

“You know what? I’m so sick and tired of constantly feeling that itch of death crawling all over me whenever you’re near. I’ve kept my mouth shut ‘cause I didn’t wanna risk being kicked outta the house, but _anything_ is better than listening to your-” Crim stabs a finger in Sans’ direction, startling the already horrified little skeleton, “self-righteous _shit,_ and it’s _definitely_ better than being patronized by the biggest fucking hypocrite in the multiverse.” Crim glares at Papyrus as he spits his venom. “So why don’t just _get off my back,_ you fuckin’ leech?”

Papyrus is petrified. He can’t- The words makes no sense to him. Leech? What does that mean? Has he taken something that’s not his? He can’t remember, he can’t- He just can’t _understand._ The words start buzzing around in his head, making less and less sense.

Crim doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he jumps off of the couch and storms towards the front door. When he rips it open, letting a rush of cold air inside, Sans calls out to him.

“W-wait! Where are you going? It’s very late!”

“The fucking inn,” Crim answers over his shoulder. “I’ve had enough of you two’s shit.” The door slams closed behind him with a finality Papyrus can’t quite process.

“Don’t listen to him Papy,” Sans says hurriedly. He’s quick to take Crim’s place in front of Papyrus and he wraps him up in a hug. “He’s just being grumpy.”

“What did he mean, Sans?” Papyrus asks. He needs to know, _he needs to know._ Has he… Has he been blacking out more than he remembers? What could he have done that could make Crim that angry?

“Nothing,” Sans says too quickly. His face presses harder into Papyrus’ shoulder, like he’s trying to hide from the truth. Papyrus doesn’t have to say anything, knows that Sans’ resolve will break easily if he just stays silent. He doesn’t hug him back.

As expected, Sans sighs only moments later, releasing Papyrus from the hug. He starts picking at the handkerchief around his neck as he thinks.

“You… You know how we can “feel” each other when we’re close?” he asks, eyes stuck to the couch visible between them.. “How we can sort of feel each other’s magic?” Papyrus doesn’t say anything, but he nods when Sans looks up to confirm he’s listening. He doesn’t like the expression on his brother’s face, doesn’t like the hesitant way he’s wringing his hands. The words building in his brother’s mind scares Papyrus. He doesn’t want to know, he doesn’t want to-

But he has to know.

“We can feel that you have lost hope, Papy,” his brother finally says, like he’s giving up. “It’s a scary feeling.”

It takes a few tries before his throat relents under his silent demands and opens up just enough for him to whisper. “How- how does it…” He makes an incomprehensible gesture with a hand between them, trying to express what his words can’t.

“Feel?” Sans finishes for him. He sighs again and lets his hands drop. When Sans looks back at him, Papyrus knows that he’s not going to get the truth. His brother’s smile is too stiff, too forced, and he knows it all too well. It’s the smile Sans uses when stuff gets so hard he just wants to cry, but he doesn’t want to look weak. When he wants to be strong for Papyrus and convince him the world isn’t as horrible as it seems.

“It’s not that bad!” Sans lies. “It’s scary, but nothing you can’t ignore if you put your mind to it. I barely notice it anymore. It shouldn’t be a surprise that _Crim_ can’t overlook something so small. He just had to make it a big deal! But it’s really not. It doesn’t matter.”

Papyrus feels like crying.

“Okay,” he just says.

“Okay,” Sans parrots.

They look at each other for a while, seconds ticking by. Papyrus can see how the thoughts are affecting Sans, but he can’t quite understand the emotions he can see running over his brother’s face. At some point Sans seems to shake them off, and he forces another smile to appear. “Well, it’s time for bed, I think! It’s late.”

“What about Crim?” Papyrus can’t help but ask. He shouldn’t be forced to sleep at the inn just because Papyrus is too stupid to see what’s right in front of him. It doesn’t feel right… but maybe it’s for the best? If he’s really that horrible to be around… Maybe Crim will actually sleep better at the inn.

“He’ll be fine!” Sans answers, standing up. He plants his hands on his hips and looks off to the side. “A few hours alone will do him good,” he says with a darker tone, nodding to himself. “He’ll be back when he has cooled down. I’ll leave the door unlocked for him.”

“Okay,” Papyrus repeats dully.

Sans makes quick work of ushering Papyrus towards the bathroom to clean up before bed. Papyrus follows the motions of his brother in an almost robotic manner, brushing his teeth and undressing with stiff limbs. Sans snatches his hoodie out of his hands and stuffs it straight into the washer the second it’s over his head, but before Papyrus can complain there’s a fresh hoodie in his hands, still warm from the dryer.

He lets Sans read to him, but the words makes no sense. Sans might as well be speaking another language right now. But his voice is soothing enough to keep Papyrus’ mind blank, if only for a moment.

For the first time in forever, Papyrus doesn’t feel tired. There’s no heaviness in his mind and no weariness in his body. Instead he feels wrung up like an elastic band, like taffy; stretched too far, like his body might start suddenly snap apart if he moved at all. He knows Sans won’t leave before he’s fallen asleep, but he also knows he won’t be able to do that for a long while yet.

He slows his breathing and closes his eyes, pretending to fall asleep. It doesn’t take more than five minutes before Sans’ voice turns softer and the volume lowers, until it completely stops. For a while, they stay like that, Papyrus breathing slowly and Sans being quiet.

“I never wanted you to know,” comes his brother’s voice, quiet like a whisper. Papyrus’ soul breaks when the tiniest snuffle reaches him, but he remains still, keeps breathing like he heard nothing. “It’s not your burden to carry.”

Sans stands from the bed, and he puts the book back on the shelf before he comes back. The blankets lying around Papyrus’ hips are pulled up around his shoulders, and he feels Sans hug him softly, like he doesn’t want to wake Papyrus again. He lets go after a few seconds and walks to the door. Before it closes Papyrus hears him mumble a soft “sleep well brother” into the room.

* * *

It’s a few hours later and Papyrus is still awake. He’s lying exactly where Sans left him, his empty sockets staring at the ceiling above him. He’s not even trying to count the stripes, not really _seeing_ despite his eyes being open. His mind is a black hole, sucking up the thoughts as quickly as they arrive.

When he hears the characteristic ‘pop’ of someone teleporting straight into his room, he doesn’t react. There’s only one other person in the Underground it could be and he doesn't know what to say to him.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Crim’s talking softly, like he’s afraid of waking the third skeleton snoring away on the other side of the wall. He probably doesn’t know that Sans sleeps like the dead when he finally passes out.

“What does it feel like?” Papyrus asks him, ignoring Crim’s attempt to get a feel for his mood. He wants to turn his head and look at Crim, but he can’t remember how to do it. So instead he keeps staring at the ceiling.

Crim is quiet for a long while, almost long enough for Papyrus to begin thinking he will never answer.

“Like you’re sucking everything that’s good outta the air,” his answer finally comes. “It’s hard to describe without getting all poetic and shit, but... It just feels like I’m standing next to Death.”

“I don’t know how to turn it off,” Papyrus tells him sullenly.

“Don’t think ya can, pal. It’s a kinda package deal.” Crim shuffles around. Papyrus can hear his jacket’s fabric rub against itself.

A sudden thought forces tears to his eyes and he has to sit up. He pulls his knees up to his chest and stares into the air in front of him. “O-oh Stars… Sans, he- he’s lived with it for _years_. What kind of brother am I?”

“Can’t blame yourself for something you can’t control, buddy,” Crim tells him. “Life’s shitty and your bro chose to stick around despite your-” Papyrus sees Crim gesture vaguely in his direction. “Condition,” he finishes. “Blue strikes me as the kinda person that can’t be forced into doing anything he doesn’t wanna do himself. Don’t go feeling bad ‘cause of other people’s shitty choices.”

“But I should, shouldn’t I?” Papyrus questions, his voice thick as he forces himself to speak around the tightness in his throat. “That’s what they do… They care.”

“Who’s “they”?”

“Normal monsters.”

“Hate to tell ya, but you’re as normal as they get, buddy.” Papyrus looks over at Crim, finds him standing a few feet away, hands hiding in his pockets. He shrugs when he sees Papyrus looking. “Your deal,” he elaborates. “Ain’t no new thing to me. Monsters drop dead because of it all the time back home. Poor bastards just give up, can’t see the point in fighting when there’s no carrot at the end of the stick. We’re stuck, so why the hell fight for a life that ain’t worth living?” Crim snorts, shaking his head like the mere thought is ridiculous to him. “Bunch of pathetic weaklings if you ask me. Yeah, so life sucks. Big fuckin’ newsflash, it’s supposed to. You just gotta find that one thing that makes it worth it and you gotta cling to it like your damn life depends on it.”

“Do… Do you have a thing?” Crim glances at him, his expression impossible to read for Papyrus. Whatever it was, it disappears under Crim’s usual mask of indifference moments later.

“My bro.” It’s all he says, but Papyrus doesn’t need anything else. He understands.

Crim clears his throat, speaking quickly. “Anyway, I just came to say sorry or whatever. For crapping out on ya back there. It’s not your fault the multiverse keeps fuckin’ me over. Wasn’t fair to unload my crap on you.”

“No, no it’s fine. I… I like the truth.”

“The truth fuckin’ hurts though.” To him, the somber words sound more like an apology than everything else Crim has said so far.

“Yeah… It does.” Papyrus looks up again, knows that he must look horrible with tears streaming down his face and his body curled into a tight ball, but he still tries to smile. “But it’s better than feeling nothing. It’s a start.”

Crim doesn’t comment on that, but Papyrus doesn’t really expect him to. He barely even knows what it means and he’s sure that he wouldn’t be able to explain if he was asked to. He doesn’t know why he said it. All he knows is that it’s true, and that’s what he’s going to cling to, for now.


	10. A Spark of Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're a day late, but you guys can deal with it! Here's an extra large chapter tho, just because we're nice :D  
> Byyyye! <3
> 
>  
> 
> Also, we ran out of buffer chapters, so the future updates might be a bit slower, as we are now writing as we go. So you can now expect new chapters every 2-3 weeks, unless we somehow get a shot of awesome and crap out a chapter in no time.

## ~ Chapter Ten ~  
A Spark Of Something New

 

 

_“I'm the king of doubt,_   
_I fight out all on the inside_   
_I'm the poster child of denial,_   
_There is nothing I can't hide_   
_I'm punching holes in walls because,_   
_I let them build up way too long, sabotage_   
_Everything I ever had,_   
_And now I'm seeing red but,_   
_There is no one else to blame but,  
The voices in my head”_

[ _“World War Me”_ by Theory of a Deadman ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZmSqs85d2A&list=PLfGOrriECQ9QAiI0dHQV479-Egr41CuaN&index=25)

* * *

 

The living room floor has pieces of electronics and tools scattered everywhere, and Crim’s right in the center of the mess. There’s an empty bottle of fruit juice and half empty bag of wasabi pistachios at his right knee, telling the story of how long he’s already been there. The soft music playing from the stereo has Crim nodding along, mumbling half-remembered lyrics of songs he’d just recently discovered.

“Need any help with that?” The question is careful and asked in a way that makes Crim think of someone gingerly holding a bomb in their hands. He pauses, his fingers still holding the tips of the wires from the DVD player he’s trying to fix.

“Dunno if you can,” he answers honestly. He glances over his shoulder and finds Slick leaning against the wall behind him, casual as ever but a little more hunched over than usual. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the guy being able to sneak up on him like that.

“Me neither,” Slick admits, “but I’m a quick learner. Just point me in the right direction.” Their eye contact lasts for a few seconds before Crim turns back around.

He looks at the guts of the DVD player in his lap. It’s not a two-man job - that’s probably obvious to Slick too - but a stab of guilt shuts him up when he almost tells Slick to get lost. His teeth click shut when he recalls the night before, the memory of Slick smiling at him through his tears still crystal clear in his mind. There was nothing happy about that smile. It was Crim seeing a broken man through the cracks of his splintering mask.

So, instead of telling the guy to fuck off, he reaches a hand behind him without looking back. When a few seconds pass without anything happening, he cranes his head around to find Slick staring at the pliers he’s holding out with muted surprise.

“You wanna help or not?” Crim asks, only letting some of his impatience tinge his voice. It’s not because he feels bad about what he did yesterday, he tells himself. Even if he fucked up - which he _didn’t_ \- Slick isn’t his problem. It’s only because he pities the guy that he’s letting him help.

The other takes them from him moments later. Crim sees orange in the corner of his eye when Slick settles down on the floor next to him. When he turns his attention to Crim expectantly, he can’t help but compare him to a small child.

It’s slow work, trying to teach Slick how to fix the DVD player. It ends up taking over an hour longer than necessary, and Crim has to constantly correct Slick’s mistakes until the point where he almost gives up. Not only is it frustrating, but it’s _very_ obvious to him that Slick didn’t get whatever mechanical talent Blue got from their parents. He’s surprisingly adept and precise with his hands, never cutting a single wrong copper thread in the wires Crim has him strip and connect, but he struggles with remembering and understanding why he needs to do it. There’s none of that drive and passion he recognized in Blue while he played with the mess of tiny robot parts on the first day of Crim’s stay in this universe. However, Slick manages to make a breakthrough right as Crim is on the edge of giving up, and after that, it becomes a lot easier to guide him through the rest of the process.

When they test the DVD player later and it suddenly buzzes to life, playing _“The Sound of Music”_ , Slick’s expression lights up. His excitement is so contagious that Crim bumps his fist against Slick’s without feeling silly.

“You did good, Rookie,” Crim tells him. Slick doesn’t say anything in return, but the left corner of his mouth lifts a bit and that’s enough for Crim.

Later, Crim can barely hide his smile as he listens to Slick proudly tell Blue about it. Crim doesn’t even feel the need to remind him that he technically wouldn’t have been able to fix anything without Crim’s help. It’s not something Blue needs to know, he decides.

* * *

It turns into a sort of routine really fast. The next day Crim is attempting to fix one of the power outlets in the kitchen when Slick shows up and offers his help again. The day after that, it’s the porch light and on the tenth day Crim realizes he doesn’t even bother waiting for Slick to ask when he shows up. Crim just automatically tells him what to do.

What also turns into a routine are the scrutinizing looks Blue shoots at his back while the two of them are elbow-deep into whatever new project he’s found to occupy his time. It continues even after he’s run out of things in the house to fix and begins bringing stuff back from his repair jobs just so they have something to work on. He still doesn’t know what he’s done to piss the guy off, but despite that, he still finds himself enjoying the quiet moments with Slick. He has to admit that it’s actually pretty nice having someone to hang with; someone that doesn’t need to fill the silence with mindless chatter all the time.

Instead, they fill it with various snacks. Slick is quick to swear off of the spicy nuts that Crim is so fond of after mistakenly trying to eat three at once after shelling them. Crim had spent the next ten minutes laughing hard enough at the subsequent gagging and scramble for water that he was sure he was heard all the way over at Muffet’s. The next time Slick shows up to help, he brings some kind of sweet peach candy squares he doesn’t mind sharing even after Crim ribs him about it. The next time, it’s chips and dip. Next, it’s strawberry tarts, then candied pear slices, and an increasing number of other things he hasn’t ever tried before that always seemed to end up on the sweet end of the taste spectrum. The only thing it all has in common is that, whatever it is, it’s always long gone by the time they’re done. It’s not long before he forsakes the pistachios entirely to share whatever Slick has with him that day, which the normally forgetful monster never fails to bring. When Crim finally begins to suspect he’s being bribed with food - admittedly easily, too - it’s already part of the routine.

It’s a few weeks later that Slick shows up with a strange request. Instead of accepting the pliers Crim offers him, he jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

“Actually, I was wondering if you could help me today,” he says. Crim puts the pliers down.

“Sure…” he says slowly. “With what?”

“It’s easier if I show you,” Slick says. “Follow me.” Crim stands and follows him to the front door. As they’re putting on their shoes and jackets Blue comes home. He looks surprised to see them standing in the doorway.

“Hey Papy, where are you going?”

“Backyard. Crim’s helping me with-”

“Oh!” Blue interrupts. “That’s cool!” He hangs his own jacket on the hook Crim just removed his from before he gives them both a big smile. “I’ll be in my room writing reports. I’ll leave dinner on the stove before going to Alphys’.”

“Sounds good bro,” he says, giving Blue a small, lopsided version of a smile in return.

When Blue vanishes behind the front door Crim closes behind himself, his curiosity wins. “You gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

“It’s a bit silly,” Slick says. “I’ve wanted to do it for a long time but never really got around to it.” He leads them around the house and into the backyard. They stop in front of a large flower pot that’s currently home to a small [ pine tree ](https://www.thetreecenter.com/wp-content/uploads/globe-blue-spruce-tree-2.jpg) Crim doesn’t remember seeing in the whole time he’s been here. It’s pretty normal-looking, but he’s surprised to find that its needles are a soft blue-green color.

“I want to plant it here in the backyard,” Slick finally explains. “It’s…” He pauses for a second as he stares at the tree, and Crim thinks he can detect a certain fondness in his expression. It’s gotten easier to read Slick over the past few weeks, but not by much. “It was my mom’s favorite. It’s mine too.”

“Huh.”

“What?” Slick glances back at him out of the corner of an eyesocket.

“Nothin’,” Crim says, shaking his head slightly and gesturing at the pine. “Just didn’t think of you as the kind of nature-lovin’ guy that would have a favorite tree.”

“Heh, nah. Me neither. Hadn’t been if it wasn’t for my mom.” His voice takes on a subtly softer, more distant quality as he continues. “She and Dad took us on picnics when we were kids. I remember her telling us stories about how the ancient humans used to give each other branches of these trees as gifts. Thought it was good fortune.”

He takes a deep breath, his fingers playing with the small branches on the young tree with a surprising amount of care. “Dad was the spiritual one of the two though. He was the one that taught us how the needles can be made into a tea that helps settle the stomach and treat rheumatic pains. A good thing to know for a skeleton monster. He was practical like that.”

As Slick’s voice tapers off, he turns his eyes from the other to the oddly colored pine. Crim has nothing to say to that, and he sure as hell isn't going to ask for the story behind it. Just as he had no intention of telling anyone about his own issues, he tells himself that he doesn’t need to involve himself with theirs.

As an awkward silence begins to creep up between the two of them, Crim reflexively stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets. Slick doesn’t seem to notice after the first few seconds, so Crim shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hoping the sounds of his boots crunching into the snow will jar Slick back to reality.

Thankfully, it works. Slick turns from fingering the soft-looking needles to give Crim’s mask of indifference a shrug. “So? What do you say? Want to help me put this in the ground?”

Well, he sure as fuck didn’t expect this, but he guesses there could be worse uses for his time. Killing an hour before dinner doesn’t seem like such a terrible idea. He imitates Slick’s shrug. “Where do you want it?”

There’s that half-assed smile again. “Let me show you.”

* * *

Digging the actual hole for the tree takes almost two full hours, which was completely unexpected. Once they manage to get the tree into the hole and it finally fits, Crim has lost track of time. All he knows is that he’s dirty and sore all over. It’s a minor consolation that Slick doesn’t look much better; he’s been working just as hard as Crim has.

Slick easily crawls out of the hole once they’re done, but Crim - being a good bit shorter - can’t seem to find the foothold he needs to get out himself. A hand appears in front of his face after his failed fourth attempt. He glances between it and the almost-there smile on Slick’s face before he accepts the help with a sigh.

After a swift pull, Crim is up and out. Slick doesn’t even bother brushing the dirt off himself before he heads for the tree. Crim follows him, knowing that there’s no way the guy is going to be able to drag that thing over there by himself.

“You’re washing my clothes after this,” Crim tells him when he catches up, making a show out of removing dirt from himself. A soft huff from Slick is enough to tell Crim he finds that funny, which isn’t really a surprise to Crim. They both know that Blue will force them to take off the clothes before they can enter the house and he’ll probably take it straight to the washing machine.

The tree stands where they left it. In the darker light of late afternoon, it appears much bluer than Crim remembers it looking before. He writes it off as being a trick of the dimmer light from the crystals, but he must admit it’s a pretty tree. Not a bad choice for a garden centerpiece.

“Here, grab the other side,” Slick says, pointing towards the two corners of the large linen cloth wrapped around the root system of the tree. Crim does as told and wraps the corners of the cloth around his hands to get a good grip. “Ready?” Slick asks after he grabs hold of the other two corners. Crim gives a nod.

The tree is much much _much_ heavier than either of them expects and it takes them seven tries before they must declare themselves unable to move it by themselves.

“Shit,” says Crim, driving the back of a hand over his sweaty forehead. “We need more people.”

“Or…” Slick says, pointing a finger at Crim, “wheels.” He runs off towards the workshop and disappears through the door. Crim hears a few smaller crashes from it and a muttered curse. Slick reappears soon after, dragging a medium sized trolley after him.

“Nice. Good thinkin’,” Crim comments when Slick reaches him.

“I knew there was a reason I kept this thing around,” Slick says. He taps Crim on the shoulder with a hand before pointing at the tree. “Let’s try it out.”

It’s still a pain in the ass to get the tree up on the trolley, but it’s doable. The small wheels have a hard time moving through the snow, but it’s a much better solution than trying to carry the thing by themselves. Working together, they manage to push and pull it all the way over to the hole in the ground.

Getting the tree into the hole is easy enough. When it’s finally in the ground and they step back to take a look at it, Slick’s expression gets a lot more somber. He doesn’t say anything, but Crim gets the feeling the guy is close to tears from just seeing the tree in the hole.

He gives him a few moments in silence to dwell in whatever thoughts occupy his mind. Then Crim gently knocks his shoulder against Slick’s.

“Come on tough guy, let’s get this thing covered before it dies.”

* * *

They have been working for about thirty minutes when Crim has to sit back and rub a sore spot in his neck again. His entire spine has been aching for a while, and this little tree project hasn’t helped the pain in any way.

“You ok? You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Slick comments as he keeps pushing dirt into the almost filled hole.

“It’s fine,” he grumbles. “Just a kink in my neck.”

“Mmh, from the couch I bet.”

“Yeah that thing ain’t exactly comfortable,” he says, seizing the chance to gripe. He wasn’t going to bitch about it because it was _somewhere_ to sleep and he was grateful about the hospitality, but it was definitely near last on the list of places he’d rather wake up in.

“You’ve been sleeping on it for a long time.” Slick doesn’t seem to mean anything by the observation, but it still causes Crim’s soul to clench a bit. He digs with a bit more zeal to cover for the grimace that pulls at his face.

“I got an extra room you can have, if you wanna get something a bit more comfortable,” Slick says. “And private,” he adds a few beats later. When Crim glances at him, Slick shrugs. “It needs some work, but I think we can manage that.”

He pauses for a second, giving Slick a look and wondering if the guy is screwing with him. His relaxed expression says he probably isn’t. “What extra room? The house only has-” He must be more tired already than he’d originally suspected, because it takes his stumbling train of thought a few seconds before he gets it. “It’s not inside the house.”

“The workshop,” Slick confirms with a nod. “Been thinking about turning it into a guest room for a while. Alphys always end up crashing on the couch after one of her and Sans’ movie nights. Could even put a TV in there so they don’t keep me up for hours.” His mouth twitches slightly upwards for a moment. “You wouldn’t believe how loud they can get together.”

“Oh I believe it,” Crim tells him. Thinking back to the time Blue dragged him to Alphys’ house on his very first day here, he can safely say he already knows.

As they pat the dirt around the small tree, Slick says, “So? What do you say?”

“I dunno Slick,” Crim answers honestly. “Seems a bit… permanent.”

“It’s not. It’s a guest room that I need help fixing up. You would just be the first guest to stay there.”

“Hm, I guess,” he says with a touch of uncertainty.

“Is that a yes?” Slick asks, leaning to the side a little in an attempt to catch his eyelights through the small branches.

Crim purposefully avoids him, and there’s a few beats of silence as he battles his indecision. It’s not as if he’d be doing it for Slick, and he sure as hell isn’t planning on staying; it’s just that he’d go out of his mind if he didn’t keep himself occupied. And honestly? The opportunity to make it back to his universe without his spine crooked in three places is pretty tempting in and of itself.

“Sure, why the fuck not?” he finally relents. “It’s not like I got anything better to do. ‘Sides, would be nice not sleeping on your shitty couch.”

As he speaks, Slick’s smile reappears for a few moments. “Heh, yeah. I have no idea why we keep that thing.” After giving the dirt a few more decisive pats, Slick stands to inspect their work. Crim follows suit a little more slowly thanks to his everything aching.

They’re both cold, tired, and covered in wet dirt from head to toe, but the tree is decidedly in the ground. On the opposite side of the pine, Crim regards the other through the gaps between the soft-looking needles. Slick looks like he’s zoned out again, but this time it’s a thoughtful pose he’s adopted rather than a potentially tearful one. Crim takes a seat on the trolley while the guy’s occupied in his own head, kicking his legs out and slowing his breathing.

“Come on,” Slick says after a few silent minutes, nudging Crim with an elbow. “Let’s go take a look at the workshop before my bro drags us back inside.”

The moment he opens the door, the immediate, stale stench of regret wafts out along with prominent oil fumes and accompanied by an underlying scent of musty wood. Dusty, unsealed boxes litter all of the corners of the room and under the desk, containing a plethora of things Crim can’t begin to guess at. Upon the visible parts of the concrete floor - beneath a carpeting of woodchips and sawdust - is a massive, black grease stain that takes up nearly a third of the room. Some torn and peeling posters from both human and monster bands Crim doesn’t recognize, are hung along the walls where metal shelves or spiderwebs aren’t otherwise occupying them. Various tools of mostly the small variety lay scattered on the shelves, the desk, and piled haphazardly on top or behind the boxes with little regard to their care. Many of those with metal edges are caked in rust.

“So, what do you think?” Slick asks after a few minutes of silence between them. Crim is still taking in the messy workshop and, honestly, he’s having a bit of trouble seeing how this can become a guest room. The grease stain soaked into the floor alone will be hell to clean up and the stench of oil and gas won’t vanish for a long time or without some serious effort.

“I dunno what to tell ya, Slick,” Crim finally tells him. He kicks an empty box on the ground and a small puff of dust rises from it. It makes him snort. “This place is a dump.”

“Yeah…” Slick admits. He ducks his head and rubs his neck, avoiding Crim’s gaze. “Haven’t been good at keeping it clean.”

“Understatement,” Crim comments. He’s pretty sure he can see what amounts to a set of petri dishes of old food that had been used to prop open some type of heavily stained blueprint on the worktable, and they need to be burned, _pronto._

“But we can do it, right? If we work together,” Slick asks, his voice revealing his eagerness. Now he’s staring Crim down, obviously no longer feeling embarrassed about the mess.

Crim sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. He looks one more time at the messy shelves and the tools spread all over the room, eyelights catching on the boxes stuffed full and overflowing with small mechanical doodads, different types of colorful cloths and what looks like a whole box full of small figures carved out of wood. The grease stain on the concrete floor and the sharp stench of chemicals in the air almost makes him call off the whole thing on the spot.

But one look at Slick’s face makes him hesitate. His expression is bright and his eyes clearer than he’s ever seen them before. It might even be the first time he sees Slick’s eyes fully open. Despite the other not usually being an easily readable guy, anyone with half a brain can see that he’s excited right now. He’s looking forward to the project, although Crim can’t figure out why. Slick is the last person Crim would expect to _want_ to clean up a mess as big as this.

Crim sighs again, shaking his head at himself. _Soft,_ he thinks to himself, he’s grown soft.

“Yeah, sure,” he finally says. “But I’m not cleaning that stain on the floor and you’re burning the worktable and everything on it because there’s no way in hell I’m dealing with anything that’s a few months away from being alive.” His words makes Slick crack what must be the closest thing to a real smile Crim has ever seen from him. It reaches his eyes, forming little creases at the base of his sockets. He stares for a few moments, dumbstruck with a strange feeling of awe, like he’s watching a super rare natural phenomenon.

The feeling vanishes when Slick starts talking about what needs to be done. Crim only catches something about Blue and his magic cleaning powers before he tunes out what Slick is saying. Instead, he’s stuck watching the guy as he walks around, poking things and boxes all the while talking nonstop about his ideas. It might be the most Crim has heard him talk in a long time.

“... and I’m sure the dump has enough materials for us to do this without having to pay for anything. You can do that magic thing you do where you bring dead electronics back to life and I’ll work on building a bed. Should I go for a queen or a king sized? For this room maybe smaller is better, but then again, comfort is important too, and just imagine what having a whole king sized bed to yourself will feel like…”

There’s a warmth growing around his soul and suddenly he can’t stop smiling. He feels good about himself. He gave the other monster something to look forward to and Slick seems almost… happy. Crim did that. And all he has to do is throw some shit out, paint a few walls and put together some furniture. Easy shit. He did all that back in the day when he and his bro first moved into the house. One room, no matter how dirty and messy it is, won’t be that difficult of a challenge.

Yeah, if he just keeps telling himself that, they’ll probably get done this year.

* * *

The first week of the renovation project is undoubtedly the hardest, but also the most entertaining. The challenge of actually being able to move through the clutter to clean the place is complicated by Blue’s stalwart refusal to allow anything in the main house to store it unless they dusted it off first. For such a small space, Slick had found a frustrating amount of nooks and crannies to store things, and not all of them were unoccupied. He’d had to relocate at least three spiders - luckily none of them Muffet’s - that had claimed the most remote locations in the messy trainwreck of a room as their own.

Blue quickly imposed another rule to check boxes for furry invaders after the two of them accidentally released a family of mice into the living room. However, the memory of Blue’s horrified screaming at the intrusion and the next few days of excited hunting by Missy (and the ‘presents’ she left on the welcome mat that he’d stepped on) overshadowed any of the griping and additional vacuuming he seemed consigned to do. However, rifling through the boxes of Slick’s stuff to check for mice quickly becomes a problem. As quick and unobtrusive as he is, Crim still can’t help but run face-first into dust-covered details about the other’s life. It’s easy to shrug off his curiosity at first when it’s only some old books and the tools lying around that he helps move, but the second he discovers some tightly-rolled blueprints hiding behind a larger box, it instantly gets the better of him.

He knows that they’re blueprints because they’re about the same size as the one Slick had stretched out on his desk before he’d gotten rid of it along with everything else that had signs of rampant mold growth. He leaves them alone until Slick heads back inside the house for a shower and an evening nap. Stretching the paper between his hands, it only takes a few seconds of staring before he realizes that it’s the floorplan for the room he’s standing in. He glances around at the walls, ceiling and spare window with confusion before he spies the handwriting detailing all of the intricacies of the space. There’s no mistaking the weird chickenscratch for anyone else’s script.

It’s the same handwriting Slick uses to sign his tab at Muffet’s.

He sets that blueprint aside and opens another one in disbelief, only to find a floorplan for the house itself. Despite the immaculate attention to detail, this one seems incomplete, adding in a number of what he would have considered useful changes, such as a pantry, a vent over the kitchen stove, and an additional bathroom along with improvements to the existing insulation. As well, it documents a planned basement that Crim knows for sure doesn’t exist despite its vivid placement on the sheet.

“No fucking way,” he mutters, and opens the rest of them one after another.

The others are for objects rather than buildings, but are no less impressive. He recognizes the chairs and table for the kitchen in the blueprints, along with a couple of side tables and … was that the decorative stage he’d seen at Muffet’s? Another glance over the document confirms it. He thought that had been made by a professional, and after a moment’s consideration, he realizes he’s not wrong. Apparently Slick used to be a damned good carpenter and a decent architect besides.

Suddenly, the box of little carved wooden figures - one of the heavier boxes they haven’t moved inside yet - makes a lot more sense. He flips one of the top flaps off of the unsealed box, reaching in to pull out one of the little statues. Upon inspecting it, he realizes that it’s broken. It’s a rough depiction of a lion, he thinks, and despite the rearing, roaring pose Slick was trying to go for, it would have looked a lot better with both of its forelegs attached. As he pulls out another couple of figures - some kind of bird and a tree - he notices that this is a recurring theme. The bird is missing a wing and the base of the tree is nowhere to be seen, as if they were chucked haphazardly into the box without a single shit given as to their preservation. He digs a little deeper for the next, but as it comes out, the sound of wood scraping against another solid wooden surface surprises him. Parting the sea of damaged carvings, he finds a small wooden box.

It’s made of a much darker type of wood than the rest of the figures and all of its surfaces have been sanded and varnished. The lid is decorated with other pieces of finely shaped wood in different colors, all of them making up a mosaic that Crim can’t seem to stop looking at.

When he finally opens the box, he finds an assortment of items inside it. It’s packed tightly, leaving almost no room for anything else. In between smaller things like a bottle cap, small scraps of paper and an older version of an unstamped gold coin with a dulled edge, Crim finds a weirdly decorated pine cone with googly eyes. He swears it almost looks like a rabbit. Next to it is what must be the tiniest pair of socks Crim has ever seen. The discoloration and worn down fabric on the bottom of them clearly tells him they’ve been used. Besides that, there’s a folded-up pencil case that’s seen better days and a pair of old glasses with a chip of glass missing in the right side.

At first the items mean nothing to him. He pokes them around with disinterest, trying to figure out if there’s anything of value inside the box. Then his finger catches on the edge of a piece of paper and his curiosity reignites. He pulls it out with a care he rarely shows. The paper feels like it could turn to dust between his fingers when he unfolds it. It’s barely holding together, the creases worn thin after many, many times of being unfolded before. Despite the worn state of the paper, the beautifully flowing, inked script kept hidden inside is still clearly visible, like it hasn’t been there for as long as the fragility of the paper says it has.

Reading the words don’t answer any of his questions until Crim reaches the end of the short note. Three small letters feel like a punch to his gut.

 

_Hi honey, I had to go back to the lab for some tests. Daddy will be home soon to take you guys out for dinner. Take care of Sansy while I’m gone. Love you._

_Mom_

  
Suddenly he realizes the box in his lap holds enormous value, just not the kind he was looking for.

He puts the refolded note in the lid and turns his attention to the other items of inside. They all seem way more interesting to him now that they’re not just some worthless knick knacks in an old box.

After removing the pencil case, he finds three pictures on the very bottom. They’re all just as worn as the note, frayed at the edges and falling apart in the corners.

The first picture in the stack is of a very young Slick with a missing front tooth holding an even younger Blue in his arms. Blue’s tiny body is swaddled in a blanket and he’s obviously sleeping in the picture. The way Slick’s looking at the baby - like there’s nothing more precious in the world - makes something inside Crim hurt. Crim has to put the picture down, and, after a short breath, he turns his attention to the next one.

It’s almost startling how quickly it affects him, but in a profoundly different way. The workshop around him is shown in the image, with one of the same posters on the wall in the same exact place above the desk. But it’s the figure _at_ the desk working with a number of chemicals in glass tubes that really captures his attention: It’s his father, the old hardass who never seemed to be able to properly balance his job and his family, all the way down to the cracks around either eye. Or rather, it’s Slick’s father. The easy way he’s smiling at the camera while holding a vial of clear liquid is something his own dad would never have done. Crim would have gotten his ass kicked three days into next week if he was ever caught anywhere near a place the old man was working. He puts it with the first picture, pushing down his dislike for a man he’s never met.

The last picture is the most worn of them all, with a limp bend to it and one edge of the picture threatening to tear completely away from its backing despite the small amount of tape precariously holding it together.

He instantly recognizes the face of the woman beaming at him. It’s been what seems like ages since he saw this face and yet he’s immediately filled with a sense of grief so potent that it feels like his soul is being crushed within his chest. He doesn’t remember the last time his mom’s smile was this carefree and happy and it _hurts_ to realize that maybe he doesn’t remember because she never had the chance to feel that. This version of her didn’t have to fight for her family’s safety and didn’t worry about how to feed her kids. She wasn’t forced to teach her children defensive magic before they could even understand the words and she never had to know what it was like to lie awake at night, terrified that somebody would take everything she cared about from her while she slept.

“What did you find?”

Crim nearly chokes on his surprise when he feels Slick’s hand on his shoulder. He suddenly feels embarrassed, like he was caught doing something intimate. He hadn’t even heard the guy open the door - did he teleport in?

Slick doesn’t say anything when he sees the picture in Crim’s hands and the items in the lid on the floor. After a moment of tense silence, he just takes the things from him. He sits down a few feet away before he carefully replaces all the trinkets in the box, putting them back in the exact same spot they were in before Crim took them out.

Slick hesitates when he’s about to put the picture of his mom back inside. He stares at it with an unreadable expression.

“You didn’t have her for long either,” Crim says in a hushed voice entirely different from his normal brusque tone. Slick just shakes his head, expression blank.

There’s silence for a few seconds before Crim decides to ask. “How did it happen here?”

“People figured out she had the same powers I do,” Slick says emotionlessly. “She’d been reckless and teleported without checking the area first. Everybody suddenly got so interested in our family. I remember hearing a crowd shouting, speeches being held right outside our house and people knocking on the door constantly…” He trails off for a moment, his eyesockets trained on the closed lid of the box.

“The Queen came to visit soon after that while Dad wasn’t home. Her and Mom talked for about an hour, and when she left my mom seemed… off. Like whatever the Queen had told her had stolen all her strength. I don’t think she told my dad until a few weeks later. She could barely smile when she tucked us into bed the following nights. She always smiled.”

“Soon she was making regular trips to Hotland a few times a week. The scientists did experiments on her. Some days she would come home and she’d be so tired she passed out on the couch. Other days she couldn’t use her hands for a week. Once she was escorted home by the Guards and my dad was told to keep an eye on her until she recovered. She couldn’t even remember our names for a month, and Dad got so angry. That was the first time I heard him curse. He was very particular about that. He always talked in soft tones, but that night it was like something else took over his body.”

Slick takes a sudden deep breath, like he just remembered that he has to breathe. Crim hears his fingers clench tightly around the box.

“They hurt her over and over again and she kept letting them do it no matter what we said to her. And one day she just… didn’t come home. Didn’t take a genius to figure out why Dad lost his mind that day.” One of Slick’s thumbs gently scrapes along the side of the box. “One of their experiments had finally killed her.”

“What were they trying to figure out?” Crim asks quietly.

“What do you think?” he snaps with an intensity Crim has never seen from Slick before. “A way outta here of course. It’s all these people want: Freedom. The tiniest possibility to break the Barrier is worth anything to them, even if it means killing one of their own. They made her try to teleport out of the Barrier and it _crushed_ her. We couldn’t even collect her dust. There was _nothing._ She was just gone.”

Something Blue told him on the first day he’d arrived here comes back to him:

_“They won’t see reason, they can’t understand that it’s not possible. People are too desperate, they want freedom too much. Our mother died because of what she could do.”_

He’d thought that Blue was maybe being a little overdramatic, but hearing it come from Slick strikes a very real, very terrible chord in him. They’d used her, she’d dusted, and Blue seemed sure that there was the potential they’d do it all over again with Slick, despite what happened the first time.

“That’s seriously fucked up,” Crim says with disgust.

“That’s just how it works,” Slick says with an edge of bitterness. “She said yes so we couldn’t do shit about it after she died. Someone _killed_ her and they got away with it.”

Crim remains silent, unsure of what to say to that with Slick’s words stirring up unpleasant memories of his own.

“We lost both parents that day,” he says after a while. “Dad was never the same again.”

“He used to be the guy that made everybody smile. If you were sad he would tell you one of his ridiculous stories and suddenly you wouldn’t be able to stop laughing. He could brighten even the darkest of days…”

“He didn’t try to find a way out of the Underground. He was trying to help people see that all we needed was down here.” Something makes a sad smile appear on his face, and Crim can’t help but notice that it’s not so much different than the one Slick tends to use as a front. “Dad used to say that all we really needed to be happy was good company, a few drinks and a hot meal. He used to preach about the soul’s inner peace. He believed that if you just accepted your situation then all your troubles would go away, because you wouldn’t need anything besides the things you already had.” The smile disappears again.

“There was a few people who didn’t like what he was trying to do. You can probably guess who.”

“The Royals,” Crim says immediately. The ones in his universe had a similar mindset.

“Yeah,” Slick confirms. “The Queen couldn’t handle the fact that people were getting comfortable. That my dad made them happy. If people stopped wanting to be free, then the things she had done to get them that freedom would suddenly mean nothing. All the lives that had been sacrificed would all have been meaningless and she can’t stand that thought.”

“I saw them, the day my dad died,” Slick continues. “She didn’t know I went with him on that repair job at the CORE. I’d just left for a minute to buy a drink from the stand just around the corner. I heard them arguing. The Queen was trying to keep her volume down but my dad was _so furious._ I heard her telling him that twisting people’s minds with his feel good crap wasn’t going to fix the real problem, the Barrier. Then I heard my dad shout my mom’s name and…” He pauses. A haunted expression runs over his face.

“It happened so fast. She just _shoved_ him and that was it. He cracked his skull on the railing and before anyone could do anything, he tumbled over it. Just like that...” Slick snaps his fingers, “he was gone too.”

“Holy fucking Stars.” Crim feels his stomach turn and tastes the backwash of his own magic on his tongue. He thought the Royals in his universe were fucked up, but this? This is a whole new level of crazy.

“I never told anyone that,” Slick says suddenly, catching Crim off guard enough to do a double take.

“You’re kidding me, right? How the hell could you let her get away with killing your dad?”

“What could I have done?” Slick says, voice pitching high. It almost sounds like he’s pleading at Crim. “It was my word against hers and I was a kid! She’s the Queen.”

Crim opens his mouth to throw back a reply, but he realizes he has none. Slick was in the exact same situation Crim was back then: The Royals killed his parents and there wasn’t a damned thing his angry, terrified kid self could do about it.

His mouth snaps closed and his gaze falls from Slick’s face to the box he’s still stroking with a thumb.

Just like him, Slick had helplessly lost both parents without even being able to retrieve their dust. As his eyes catch again on the mosaic pattern on the lid, the mournful tinkling of sand-filled glass vials in the Snowdin breeze comes to him unbidden. They both had their own ways of remembering them.

“Yeah,” he finally says with a heavy sigh, looking anywhere but the other. “You were a kid. Ain’t nothin’ you could’a done.”

The silence in the room is deafening, the only sound being the wind outside pushing against the workshop, and it takes a couple minutes before Slick breaks it.

“What happened to yours?” When Crim glances back at him, he can easily see the little rivulets of magic running down his cheeks and the damp spots they’re making on the arms of his hoodie.

“The Royals,” Crim says shortly, pretending not to notice.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he says bitterly. “Seems like the one thing our universes have in common is the shitty people who run the place.”

“Anyway,” he says with a grunt, pushing himself to his feet, “I got a job. Gotta run...”

He tells himself again that he doesn’t owe Slick anything: Not an explanation, not an answer, and that he doesn’t even have to care about what happens to someone who exists in a universe he’d never come back to. Even if it was someone who seemed to go out of his way to work with him.

But it’s the fact that Slick doesn’t say anything as he makes his way to the door and wrenches it open that creates a black hole of guilt in his chest.

Crim curses inwardly at himself as he stands in the open doorway, letting the cold air in as he battles his indecisiveness. On one hand, it really isn’t his problem. On the other, leaving the guy crying on the floor of the messy workshop after raiding the only thing he has left of his dead parents would be a brand new low for him.

His uncertainty cracks when he hears Slick sniff quietly behind him. _No fuck don’t-_ “You gonna be okay?” _Damnit._

There’s a beat of silence before the subdued answer comes. “I’ll be fine.”

It doesn’t sound convincing.

He sighs, long and deep, feeling the decision lingering in the back of his mind pull at something deep inside of him. Whatever it is he can't put a name to it, but it drains him quickly, making him feel the first pokes of exhaustion all over his body.

It's too late, he thinks. He's already in this deep and the pinch of guilt in his soul won't let him walk away from this and try to convince himself that the answer Slick gave him is enough of an excuse to pretend he doesn't have to do more.

He closes the door behind him, finding himself right back where he started and full of uncertainty about his next move.

“Thought you had a job,” comes the quiet voice from the floor.

Crim, without breaking his mask of outward calm, marches his way over to Slick’s side and makes a show out of visibly digging his phone out of a pocket and thumbing a few random buttons. “Oh hey, would ya look at that? It got rescheduled.”

“Stars, I’m starving,” he says way too casually to break the encroaching, hellishly awkward silence before looking down at Slick. Actually, that’s a pretty damned good idea. He latches onto it immediately for a lack of anything better. “Hey,” he says with a little more enthusiasm as he gently prods Slick’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Stop using your ass as an oilrag. I’m buying you lunch.”

* * *

It’s almost a month later and Crim is sitting on the newly carpeted floor in the almost finished guest room. He’s once again surrounded by electronic parts, in the final stages of rebuilding a TV from nearly nothing. He’s having fun, quietly humming along to the music playing on the radio atop the new desk in the room. It’s been about half an hour since Slick vanished, saying something about taking a shower.

Crim’s plugging in the last few cables of the TV and DVD player when Blue shows up. His arms are full of sheets and pillows, undoubtedly meant to go on the newly constructed bed Slick had finished just a few hours ago. The air grows tense as the two of them stare at each other for a few beats, but when a puff of wind outside makes the door slam shut behind Blue, he startles. The shock seems to shake him out of whatever made him pause and Crim can literally _see_ the mask slide over Blue’s face, hiding all signs of his annoyance and dislike.

“Hey Crim!” is the first thing out of his mouth, and Crim feels like rolling his eyelights at the sugar sweet tone. He doesn’t though, opting to turn back to the mess of cables in his hands instead.

He throws a casual “Wassup?” over his shoulder, but offers no other reply. It seems to once again annoy Blue, and he hears a tiny suppressed huff from him. However, two seconds later he steps further into the room and makes a show out of looking at everything, seemingly set on not letting Crim’s reluctance to engage in a conversation deter him. The TV setup Crim is currently finishing up makes small wrinkles appear on Blue’s forehead, but they soon vanish in favor of a soft smile when he sees the shelves full of the small, carved figures that had been salvaged from the storage boxes.

“The room turned out great!” he comments as he turns to look at the cat tree Slick made a week ago.

Crim remember being skeptical when Slick proposed that project, thinking that there was no way a bunch of dried out branches, a roll of rope and a few planks of wood could turn into something usable for Missy. It was the first time he got to see Slick in action, showing off his superior craftsmanship. After a week he had to eat his own words and admit he was impressed when Slick showed off an [ incredible piece of cat furniture ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/f9/b7/01/f9b7017afbad1ebf244df9ddb46c4d6e.jpg). When Missy was allowed on it, she was so ecstatic she let Slick pet her for a staggering 4 minutes.

“Well, I better get started,” Blue finally says, filling the gulf of silence Crim leaves between them. He moves to the bed and starts working.

It’s a few minutes of ignoring the sounds of rustling sheets later when Crim finally finishes sorting the cables. His back is aching something fierce and he rubs it with a small hiss, longing for that soft-looking bed waiting for him.

Crim completely ignores Blue’s huff of aggravation when he falls back onto the almost-made bed, over-exaggerating his sigh of relief when his spine doesn’t immediately protest the accommodations.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he says, cacklling as he waits for Blue’s inevitable admonishment.

After a few beats of silence and it still doesn’t come, Crim cranes his neck to see the shorter skeleton eyeing the paltry contents of the room with his hands on his hips. “What?”

Blue turns back to him with a bright smile and a happy shrug. “Nothing! It looks really nice so far. With a little more furniture, it’ll look even better!” The smile stutters a little, but doesn’t completely drop. “I just wanted to thank you for including Papy. I know you don’t intend to stay, but being a part of this meant a lot to him.”

Crim snorts, scooting the rest of the way onto the bed and threading his fingers behind his skull. “He just wanted the place converted for you guys and I didn’t have anything better to do.”

The searching look Blue is giving him makes him a tad uncomfortable. “Well sure, that’s certainly part of it.” When Crim lifts a browbone at him, Blue sighs in exasperation, and the sound is accompanied by a pointed roll of his eyelights. “This,” he gestures at the walls of the room, “was Papy’s-”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Crim interrupts.

“ _-before_ he became like this,” Blue finishes, undeterred. “He hasn’t touched this place in years, and now it’s completely renovated. And _you_ are going to be living in it. Do you understand?”

Crim gives him a deadpan look. “You’re gonna have to spell it out, kid.”

Blue crosses his arms, expression turning serious. “I know you don’t care, but he thinks of you as a good friend and he really wants to help. However, letting him believe you’re going to be staying is a bit cruel, wouldn’t you agree?”

Crim sits up, hearing something in the other monster’s tone that he doesn’t like. “Never said I was.”

Blue gestures around the room with a little more zeal before giving Crim an obvious ‘are you serious?’ look.

“He wanted the place converted,” Crim repeats a little more forcefully, defensive in the face of Blue’s unspoken skepticism. “There’s no big agenda, no other reason than I was doin’ him a fuckin’ favor and killin’ time. That’s _it._ I’m not leading him on or some bullshit like that.”

“Papy doesn’t know what subtly is,” Blue says in a startlingly blunt fashion.

“That ain’t my problem. I’ve made it pretty fuckin’ clear I wasn’t staying and he knows,” Crim says, thinking of the morning he tried to leave and failed miserably. He’s confident that Slick knows Crim isn’t staying. If not, then he’s stupider than Crim thought, and he highly doubts that’s the case. He’s seen the blueprints for all kinds of things Slick once drew when they cleaned the place out. No one short of a genius could have made those.

As an afterthought, he adds, “And all this was his idea to begin with, not mine.”

“Well, not all of us can write off other people’s feelings like you, so I guess I’ll have to make it _my_ problem,” Blue says with an odd sharpness to his voice that seems to startle not only Crim, but also himself. He blinks for a moment and takes a deep breath before he continues.

“Look,” he says, closing his eyes and pinching his nasal ridge in an obvious effort to ground himself. “I understand that you’re not doing this on purpose, but-” Crim can almost hear the unspoken ‘ _for some reason’_ in his tone, “-Papy is getting very attached to you.” Blue finally looks at him, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. “And that would normally be a great thing! He needs more friends. But if he spends all this time with you and then one day you’re suddenly,” Blue makes a spread-palmed gesture with his hands and looks down at them, “- _gone_ , he’ll be devastated. While he _knows_ you’re leaving, he _hopes_ you won’t, and that’s literally all he has - he always expects things to stay the same. The things you’re doing with him? This?” Blue gestures at the nearly completed renovation project around them. “This is reinforcing that, and while I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Blue says, seeming to pick his words very carefully, “I’m asking you to stop.”

Over the course of Blue’s little speech, the defensiveness bleeds out of him, replaced by a sense of incredulity and then ugly amusement. _Wow, this guy is a real piece of work_ , he thinks. _Not only is he a judgemental asshole, but he’s also got more control issues than a Vegetoid with a vegan agenda._ He might even believe the shit he’s spouting, but after letting loose a highly amused snort, Crim can't hold back his snarky reply. Leaning his chin on his fists and producing his most provocative grin, he lets it tumble out of his mouth:

“I bet that kinda shit works on people all the time,” he tells Blue with an almost disgusting amount of satisfaction. “But I ain't people, pipsqueak, and I see right through your bullshit. Slick is a big boy. He’ll get over it.”

And there it is. After two months of keeping his opinion to himself, it feels amazing to finally let it loose, and the reaction he receives is even better. Judging by the glaring outrage written all over the shorter skeleton’s face, he can guess that Blue is rarely given a ‘no’ answer for his outwardly well-meaning requests.

Blue’s eyelights are perhaps the most telling of his anger, becoming huge and shining brightly even as the rest of his body goes rigid. “For someone who’s so-,” he pauses, seeming to struggle to get the words out through his teeth, “-so _inconsiderate_ of other people in the first place, I don’t see why it would be so _difficult_ for you to try distancing yourself a little more. In _fact_ -”

Crim is a second from merrily telling him to go fuck himself when the door handle jiggles behind Blue, causing him to freeze up and his eyelights to flicker in and out of existence. The result of Slick’s accidental intrusion is better than anything he could have come up with himself. Watching Blue’s furious expression morph into a stiff facade of cheerfulness is the highlight of Crim’s day, and he doesn’t bother dropping the highly amused grin he’s wearing. If anything, he sinks a little deeper into his leering slouch.

“Papy! There you are!” Blue exclaims as Slick closes the door behind him. Blue’s greeting is no less enthusiastic, and the only sign of his earlier aggravation is the slightly shrill pitch of his voice. Crim wonders where the small skeleton gets the strength to keep that whole act going for so long - and how far gone Slick must be to not notice a thing.

“Hey Slick,” Crim drawls.

“Hey guys.” The taller skeleton, completely oblivious as always, takes great care not to step on the parts he’d left sprawled out on the floor and comes to stand next to a Blue. A friendly arm drapes itself over Blue’s shoulders as Slick admires the now-furnished bed with that fractional smile of his. “Hey bro, looks good.”

“Feels good, too,” Crim responds with enough cheekiness to cause Blue’s left eyesocket to twitch ever so slightly.

“It would have looked much better if you’d have let me finish,” Blue says with a voice that’s still slightly off its normal pitch. If Slick notices, he doesn’t mention it.

“Looks like you’re ready to crash,” Slick says.

“Thinkin’ about it,” he replies. “It’s comfy here.” He winks at Blue and he enjoys the following spasms of his face as he tries to keep his mask of cheerfulness up.

Slick on the other hand seems to think his wink meant something way different.

“Alright alright, we can take a hint,” he says. “Come on bro, let’s go back inside.” Blue looks like he is about to have a stroke for two seconds before his body eases up and he lets Slick guide him out of the room.

“Cya tomorrow buddy,” Slick throws over his shoulder. The door closes and finally - for the first time in two months - Crim has a moment of privacy.

He listens to the crunchy sound of their footsteps fading away. When they appear again they’re on the other side of the wall he’s lying up against and they’re very faint. He can hear Blue’s voice over the sounds of both of them walking up the stairs to the second floor, although he can’t understand what he’s saying. Soon the voice disappears and two doors close. After that, all there’s left is silence.

It’s been a long time since he was surrounded by silence on all sides. The last time it happened was the last night he spent in his own bed, in his own universe, after yet another argument with his bro. That last week was nothing but arguments and Crim still feels the tang of anger on the back of his tongue when he thinks about it. Nothing made the house quieter than when Papyrus held a grudge. His silence could last for days and felt almost like a physical presence, like a forcefield wrapping around his head. It would drive Crim insane because he knew Papyrus would never break until Crim did. He would keep his silence until Crim screamed at him to just _fucking say something_.

Nothing is more disappointing than losing a battle of wills like that.

Blue is not much different than Crim’s bro. Stubborn and set on controlling his brother’s life because of some idea that it’s protecting Slick. It’s obvious that, for whatever reason, Blue wants him gone just as much as Crim wants to be gone. In some fucked up, twisted way, it makes Crim feel so much better about his situation. Suddenly, he’s not the only one getting fucked over by the multiverse. He’s not alone in his torment and he supposes he should feel bad at how happy that makes him.

He should probably try to be nicer and do as his host asks, but fuck it. Crim hasn’t done anything wrong and he isn’t about to give up one of the few things that makes his stay here bearable. So what if he gains another enemy? Blue’s hardly a threat to him. Besides, if he somehow mysteriously ends up being a problem… Crim has his trump card: as long as Slick wants him around, Blue can’t do jack shit to him.


	11. Don’t Take Me All Too Seriously

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect the future chapters to be 11k words xD We did not expect it to happen. But we had to much fun so we ended up doing it anyway. OH WELL.
> 
> Enjoy!! And remember to look in the end notes when the (*) shows up. ;) It's going to be helpful! And important!
> 
>  
> 
> Come scream at us on tumblr!  
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~

## ~ Chapter Eleven ~  
**Don’t Take Me All Too Seriously**

 

_“Nothing ever feels the quite same when you are what you dreamed_   
_And you will never look at anything the same when you see what I see_   
_How we forget ourselves, lose our way from the cradle to the grave_   
_You can't replicate or duplicate, gotta find your own way"_

[ _“How did you love?”_ by Shinedown ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GA1Sm3tvS0c&index=46&list=PLfGOrriECQ9QAiI0dHQV479-Egr41CuaN)

* * *

 

**_Slick’s POV_ **

 

It’s been a rather dull Saturday. Papyrus’ schedule, having recently been rather full due to the workshop renovation, has suddenly opened up, leaving him with nothing to do for the day. His partner in crime - Crim - was gone long before he woke up, out doing a string of repair jobs he had been putting off while helping Papyrus with the workshop. Or, _guest room_ as he has to remind himself again. It’s not a workshop anymore.

Without Crim there to fill the hours of his day with easy banter, and it being a Saturday, Papyrus found himself at a loss for what to do. His normal desire to sleep the day away was gone, and he actually grew restless enough to start cleaning his room. Surprising no one, his reserve of effort doesn’t last for long. Instead, he ends up sprawled out on the couch, watching reruns of old, cheesy shows.

He’s typing a reply to Sans, who’s off on one of his adventures with Alphys, when Crim appears in the middle of the living room. Papyrus doesn’t startle like his bro does when Crim teleports straight into the house. His only reaction to Crim’s appearance is the slight nod of his head.

“What’s up, Slick?” Crim greets him. He drops himself on the couch a few feet away and throws an arm over the backrest, letting out a tiny, happy groan. “What’re you doin’?”

“Trying to explain to Sans that I’m an adult and know how to feed myself even though he isn’t home to cook,” Papyrus answers, finishing the text and hitting send. A small sound announces its departure and he puts the phone away in his hoodie pocket before turning his attention to Crim.

“Sweet,” Crim says in reply, a grin growing. “You can finally take me to that place you got those curly fried onions last week. I’ve been _dying_ to get more.”

“Sure, it’s not that far.” Papyrus feels his pocket vibrate and he pulls his phone out again. It’s just the normal confirmatory text, telling him that if he changes his mind, all he has to do is say so and Sans will come home. Seconds later, another one arrives, saying that Sans will definitely be home before seven. Papyrus just sends him a winking emoji before putting his phone down again.

“You’re back early,” Papyrus says to Crim. He pulls his legs up under him, giving Crim more room on the couch. His chin fits perfectly on his crossed arms where they rest on top of his knees.

“Yeah, ran out of parts. Thought Doggo might be able to get them for me, but turns out he couldn’t.”

“What about the Dump?” Papyrus asks.

“Yeah, that was my next stop. Wanna come with? Could use someone to carry all the crap back.”

Papyrus lets out a breathy laugh at that and unfolds his limbs. “Sure,” he says. “But you’re buying me dinner then.”

“You want flowers too, Princess?”

“As a matter of fact-”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Crim interrupts him, shoving his shoulder with a wide grin on his face. Crim shakes his head as Papyrus’ own smile grows, and he feels a laugh bubble in his chest even though it’s still not quite strong enough to escape yet.

“Let’s get outta here,” Crim tells him, nodding towards the door. Papyrus is quick to follow when he gets off the couch.

* * *

To Papyrus’ surprise, Crim insists that they walk to the Dump. He doesn’t mind, since it gives him plenty of time to smoke. Crim fills the trip with explanations of what parts he need and descriptions of what they look like. He shows Papyrus some pictures he took of the rough blueprints he drew on a few napkins at Muffet’s during his lunch break, and points out a few things that will make it easier for him to recognize the parts as they search the trash piles.

Even though Papyrus doesn’t understand much of Crim’s more technical explanations, he listens closely to every word like always. Listening to Crim talk about stuff like this is enrapturing. Just hearing the passion in his voice makes Papyrus’ soul swell with excitement over their newest project.

As they continue forward through Waterfall, the surrounding environment becomes increasingly dark and humid. The characteristic dull, grey-blueish light of the Snowdin cave bleeds into the much darker and more vibrant blue that seems to be visible on every species of plant growing here. Everywhere he looks, Papyrus can see the bioluminescent blue glow: On the mushrooms gills, in the leaves of the vines climbing up the cave walls, in the tiny flowers growing in the blue-green grass along the paths and in the echo flowers softly whispering in the fields and on the banks of the rivers. Even the plankton seems to glow brighter as they cross the small bridges and skip over rocks lying in the calmer, thinner sections of the water streams. There’s something peaceful about seeing the caves’ eco-systems live and breathe - watching how tiny organisms can have a huge impact on their environment.

The trip doesn’t take more than twenty minutes or so, and before long Papyrus is guiding Crim down the shortcut - a crack in the cave wall that’s just big enough for them both to squeeze through - that’ll take them straight to the Dump instead of going around to the front entrance.

When they arrive, Crim stops right on the outskirts of the area. He leans his head back, his mouth open in awe as he takes it all in. It’s like he’s never seen the Dump before. After a few moments, Papyrus realizes that he’s kind of right: Crim actually hasn’t seen this hidden away part of the Dump in this universe before. According to what Crim had told him, the place he found Missy was near the entrance where none of the piles have had time to grow to the size of these mountains. Most people don’t know about this back entrance - probably due to the fact that it’s almost impossible to spot behind the huge mushroom growing in front of it. That means they mostly scavenge around the front entrance, leaving this back end of the Dump to pile up. It’s very few monsters that go through the trouble of wandering several hundred feet through the wet, swamp-like Dump to get to the untouched areas.

On top of that, all the things he and Crim had needed for the guest room were delivered by a group of enthusiastic teenagers who earned a good pile of coins for helping them out with the collection of materials. Because of that, Papyrus never had the chance to show Crim this until now. Crim had insisted on paying the teenagers so they could focus on the actual work in the workshop. If he hadn’t done that, the renovation would have taken much, much longer than it did. Papyrus kind of suspects Crim was in a hurry to get it done, just so he could get a real bed to sleep in.

“Stars…” Crim mumbles as he leans his head further back, letting his eyes follow one of the mountains as it rises upwards. “Had no idea this was back here…” Papyrus understands his reaction as he follows Crim’s gaze, trying to find the peak of the mountain. He himself is a bit surprised at how much this place changed since the last time he was here.

As they watch, a few new items fall from the hole above the mountain. The small trickle that has been slowly dripping is replaced by a new flush of water - like a torrent through a broken dam - as the items appear from the opening. They roll down the sides of the mountain with small rattling sounds until they reach a flat point where they stop.

Papyrus shifts his gaze, looking around the whole cave. The huge stacks of trash reach far higher in the cave than they did a few years ago. Some of the peaks are almost impossible to see, as they’re obscured by the foggy, cloudy air hovering under the ceiling and the long, dangly vines hanging from the edges of the holes in the roof. The sound of the rushing waterfalls from some of the larger openings are as loud as ever, their roar deafening in the huge cave.

As always, Papyrus tries to catch a glimpse of the world above through the holes, and as always, he fails. The thick weave of root systems and vines from whatever forest is up there hang as heavy blankets over the larger openings, obscuring his vision. He feels a stab of disappointment and, once again, the old desire to climb to the very top of one of the taller mountains comes over him. They’re so close to the Overworld here, and yet so far away. It’s cruel, dangling freedom just out of their reach like that. Even if they could see it from up there, they’d never be able to touch it.

“I’ve never seen this place this full before,” Crim says, startling Papyrus out of his thoughts.

“No?” he responds.

Papyrus doesn’t miss the way Crim hesitates before answering. “Back home…” he says. It almost sounds like he has to force the words out. “People are desperate for supplies. And of course someone made this place into a business.” He makes a gesture at the piles in front of them. “You gotta pay big cash to get in and even then there’s nothin’ of great value. It’s been picked clean.” He lets out a snort and glances at Papyrus. “Unsurprisingly, the Royals and the Scientist already got their hands on the best shit.”

Crim buries his hands in his pockets and half-shrugs. “It’s kinda weird just walking in like this.”

Papyrus nods even though he doesn’t understand. “I bet.” Crim takes another moment to look around before he decides they’ve lingered long enough.

“Let’s go.” He leads the way down the dirt path that soon turns into a narrow wooden bridge. It lies over the one foot deep layer of water that’s covering the whole area. To his surprise, Crim refuses to use the wooden path and instead walks straight into the water, like he doesn’t care about his boots or pants. Papyrus decides to not to comment on it.

The jumbles of trash stretch upwards on both sides of him as he walks down the narrow trench, eyes searching the odd lumps for something he recognizes. Crim is ahead of him, his steps careful, like he’s afraid that there might be a sinkhole covered by the water right in front of him. His eyes aren’t on the trash though, but lingering near the tops of the mountains instead. His posture gets more and more tensed until he looks like a frightened animal trying to sneak past a predator. Papyrus can practically feel the anxiety roll off of him in waves.

“What’s up?” Papyrus asks, confused.

“You hear that?” Crim asks in a hushed tone. His head whips around like he heard something behind him, but all he finds is Papyrus giving him a concerned look.

The obvious unrest on Crim’s face bothers him. “Are you okay?”

“I swear I heard somet-” As he says it, Papyrus hears a rustle from the other side of the smaller pile to his left. “There!” Crim exclaims, his finger jabbing in the direction of the sound. Papyrus takes a step closer - to the dismay of Crim - and leans over to look behind the piles. There’s a movement, something white zapping around a corner.

“Huh,” he hums. “Must have been a rat.”

“Can’t have been, rats skitter, make sounds.” Papyrus shrugs as he turns around, not really finding any reason to be worried. It’s the Dump and rats are a thing. They come with the trash from the surface and get stuck down here like them. They’ve got a whole breeding population in Waterfall, and the views on that depend on which monster you ask; some really like the taste.

He decides to go stand by Crim to offer him some kind of support, despite the fact that the guy is still standing in water that now reaches above his knees. Papyrus feels the grimy water soak into his pants and find it’s way into his shoes the second he steps off the wooden planks. The other doesn’t even roll his eyes at him or tease him about no longer walking on his precious safe path, and that’s how Papyrus realizes that Crim is sincerely freaking out. He’s not just overreacting; he really thinks there’s something dangerous out there.

“I’m sure it’s nothing bad,” Papyrus says in an attempt to calm Crim down. It does little to help, because Crim glances at him with a look that screams ‘idiot’.

“Yeah? Well if it ain’t anything bad, how come it keeps circling us, huh? Why not come out and say hello?” he asks. Papyrus has to shrug again, having no answers to give. “I’m telling ya, I’ve spent a fair share of my life being hunted and I know what it feels like. You get this chill on the back of your neck, like something’s watching ya.” As he speaks, Papyrus suddenly feels the back of his head tingle, reacting exactly the way Crim is describing.

“Well, whatever it was, it’s gone now, right? So there’s nothing to worry about,” he says, stupidly naive and hopeful, but seconds later they both hear the same kind of rustling on the piles directly behind them.

Both of them turn around, Crim with a loud curse and Papyrus with anxiety starting to burn in his soul. An old tin can and a broken lamp starts the slide of trash that falls down the side of a smaller pile, forcing them to step back to avoid getting covered in it. Papyrus sees the same flash of white out the corner of his eye, but whatever it is is gone before he can get a good look at it. All he catches is the strange sensation of his vision flickering when there’s another glimpse of it. It feels strangely familiar.

“Shit,” he hears Crim mutter. Moments later, Papyrus sees red on the edge of his vision. When he glances at Crim, his eyes are ablaze with magic and in his hand is a crude but heavy-looking bone construct.

“Chill, it’s probably just some kid playing a prank on us,” Papyrus tries to reassure him, but he’s feeling less and less confident by the second. He hears the constant rustling now too, like footsteps sinking into the spongy, squishy material that makes up the trash piles. All that trash has been here for such a long time, soaking until its materials melted together into a soupy aggregation, that it has a distinct sound when it’s disturbed. Even Papyrus remembers it well despite not having visited this place for years.

“Just shut up and get behind me,” Crim snaps at him, his voice only a harsh whisper. His magic burns more fervently when he steps in front of Papyrus, like it suddenly knows it’s protecting two instead of just one. It’s the first time Papyrus has been this close to Crim’s magic and the feeling of it crackling in the air around him is… Intense. He’s never felt magic this wild and untamed before, so potent and dangerous. It’s honestly a bit terrifying, and for a moment he’s actually more scared of Crim than whatever is out there.

That’s when he realizes he’s being ridiculous. There hasn’t been a single violent attack in the Underground since Alphys took over the title of Captain. She gotten rid of the last gangs, cleaned up the Capital and given people new hope. She made sure that no one had a reason to be violent, and for years, everyone has been living in peace. The worst thing that can happen is tripping over a Pyrope and accidentally making it excited. Nothing can prepare you for that hot hell.

As soon as that thought becomes a solid fact in his mind, it’s easy to let go of the fear. Curiosity takes it place and suddenly he’s looking around, trying to catch another glimpse of whoever is messing with them.

The next glimpse comes with a sound that words can barely describe. If Papyrus had to try, he would say it’s about the same sound a Moldsmal makes when you repeatedly squeeze it through your fingers. It’s a wet, metallic, sucking sound, and to someone hearing it for the first time, Papyrus understands how it can be perceived as disgusting. The series of revolted looks that cross Crim’s face are no surprise.

“The hell?!” Crim hisses. “What kinda fucked up shit have you been hiding in this damn world of yours?” Crim is getting increasingly panicked, but Papyrus breaks out in a smile when he finally realizes who has come for a visit.

The wet sounds stop for a moment and reappear behind them. Papyrus’ smile grows, because he knows this will be fantastic to witness. Accompanying the strange, wet sucking sounds are heavy breathing and the stench of something bizarrely, satisfyingly sweet and disgusting at the same time, like melted gummy bears mixed with burnt cheese.

He turns around a few moments before Crim does and has the opportunity to watch Crim’s expression as he sees Endogeny slowly rising from behind a pile of garbage like a majestic beast. A few lumps of the amorphous monster’s body floats through the air between them, making Crim flinch away and almost gag as he watches them reattach to the amalgamate in front of him. Crim is paralyzed, frozen in what Papyrus can only describe as utter, complete terror, his mouth open and his eyes blackened, all traces of his magic gone. When the sounds of Endogeny rise in volume as their body fully forms, Crim starts emitting a high-pitched noise that Papyrus can only describe as a scream.

For four glorious moments he manages to keep his eyes on Crim before the hilarity of the situation makes him break. He nearly bends over with how hard he’s struggling to breathe and not laugh out loud. This is too good to be true. He has heard the stories of people meeting the Amalgamates for the first time but has never had the pleasure of witnessing it for himself. He has always thought people made the stories more dramatic just to make them more interesting, but now he realizes that they were all 100% true. His own first encounter with an amalgamate was nothing compared to this.

He forces himself to stand up again, keeping what he hopes is a neutral expression as he reaches a hand out. Endogeny instantly perks up, jerking towards them in a mess of seeping, melty excitement at the promise of pets. To Crim, however, it must have seemed like a sign of aggression, because he is suddenly in front of Papyrus, trying to shield him with his body.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” His voice is a low growl, his magic back in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Papyrus says. “I know how to handle them. My bro told me stories, I got this.” Crim doesn’t move and Papyrus decides he’s done being treated like the damsel in distress. A quick teleport a few feet away won’t hurt him too much and it’ll be so worth it.

When he reappears, Endogeny is instantly on him. Their long, black tongue falls out of their mouth and they start licking his face as he scratches what must be the side of their head. Within seconds, Papyrus is covered head to toe in slobber and goo.

After he has petted Endogeny enough to make the dog Amalgamate fall over on the side, satisfied with life - closest to Papyrus of course so he can’t stop petting them -  Papyrus turns to Crim again. “Come on, pet them. They love it here, right behind the ear.” Papyrus scratches the spot and Endogeny’s “legs” start kicking repeatedly, their tongue lolling out of their mouth. Crim looks like he’s about to throw up at the amalgamate’s happy spasming.

“What ears?!” he squeaks in a voice that _almost_ mimics Sans’ highest pitch. When Endogeny starts leaning more and more against Papyrus, he starts slowly sinking into their body. Papyrus knows it’s not dangerous. He’s not getting absorbed. It’s more like an extremely fat monster’s flesh wrapping around your limbs. It’s hot as hell and kinda gross because Endogeny’s body is covered in some kind of slimy substance, but the horrified look on Crim’s face and the return of his high-pitched scream makes it all worth it.

“ _Would you stop doing that?! It’s eating you for fucks sake!!”_

“You might have to come pull me out,” Papyrus says, making his voice sound just slightly worried. “Sans had to dig me out once and it took forever.” It’s hard not to laugh when Crim visibly pales at his words. Papyrus never thought skeletons could actually do that and it’s beyond funny to watch him shaking in his boots.

“Nope, fuck that, I ain’t saving your ass! You got yourself into that mess!”

“Crim, help! Please!” It’s so hard for him to keep his face neutral, because watching Crim struggle with himself and finally having to deal with the fact that he has to “save” Papyrus might be the single most hilarious thing he has ever seen in his life.

He takes pity on Crim when he literally gags as he steps closer to Endogeny, his entire body shaking so hard Papyrus can hear his bones rattle, even though he’s halfway covered by the amalgamate.

“Alright big guy, fun is over,” Papyrus says, tapping the Amalgamate’s body. Endogeny pulls away, but not without whining pathetically in an otherworldly tone.

When he’s fully detached, he pets them one more time before sending them off, saying that they still have work to do. Endogeny dissolves after giving him one last friendly lick on the face.

As Papyrus watches the wispy, fog-like remains of Endogeny’s body disappear towards a distant trash mound, he can see the dimming of Crim’s eyelights out of the corner of his own sockets. Shortly, there’s no sound in the cavern besides the usual rushing of the waterfalls and the other’s quick, panicked breathing just off to the side. Almost half a minute of silence later, and Papyrus picks at the edge of his slimed hoodie casually, about to comment on how gross it feels, when he’s suddenly shoved hard enough to fall face-first into the fetid garbage water.

“What. The. _FUCK?!”_ comes the angry yelling from behind him, still slightly off-key from Crim’s usual tones. “Is your _PROBLEM?!”_

Dripping of garbage and amalgamate slime, he turns around to see a positively furious Crim standing above him with his fists clenched at his sides a snarl plastered across his face. For the first time, Papyrus wonders if he might have crossed a line, and his good humor about the situation quickly sobers up.

Still sitting in the water, he makes a show of wiping off a slimy cheek with an almost slimier shoulder. “What?”

“Fuck you!” Crim growls down at him. “You know ‘what’! What the fuck was that!?”

“Endogeny,” Papyrus answers easily. “They tend to go wherever they want, but they like to hang around the Dump for some reason.”

For some reason, his answer seems to piss Crim off even more. “You _planned_ this?” he says, his voice dipping low.

“Uh, as much as someone can plan to get slimed and then pushed into trash, sure,” he answers honestly, glancing down at his discolored hoodie before looking back up at Crim.

Crim seems to consider him as his expression settles into annoyance, and Papyrus takes that as an improvement. “I should fuckin’ leave your ass here.”

“But you won’t,” he chimes in hopefully. “Because next time, you’d have to come back alone.”

The words automatically pull a grimace out of Crim, his eyes scanning the empty area around them. He obviously doesn’t relish the idea of returning, knowing that Endogeny could still be roaming the area.

He takes Crim’s distraction to push himself up, and when he stands, he feels ten pounds heavier from all the water his clothing’s absorbed.

“What do you have against Endogeny anyway? They’re harmless.”

Crim looks back at him like he’s crazy. “Other than being a bloodthirsty creature of unimaginable horror? Yeah, a’ight.”

“Wanting attention from the few monsters who wander back here makes them bloodthirsty?” he says, a browbone rising. “They’re a little weird, sure, but that’s a bit much.”

At Crim’s annoyed snort, he takes a moment to wring out some of the awful-smelling water from the base of his hoodie. When the action doesn’t make him feel any less like he’s wearing a set of damp, clingy towels, he unzips it and throws it over his shoulder instead. The undershirt he’s wearing is going to have to do until he grabs another back home.

 _After a shower,_ he thinks, still feeling the coating of slime on his bones a little too intimately. _Definitely after a shower._

“Soooooo,” he prompts, “did you still want to-”

“No, I’m fuckin’ done,” Crim snaps at him, and shoves an open hand in his direction. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

It’s an offer to teleport them both home, he knows. He smiles gratefully, and doesn’t waste any time grabbing it. The moment he does, they disappear in a flash of red and reappear in the middle of the living room.

As he reorients from the teleport, he loses his grip on the shouldered hoodie, and it falls with a wet ‘schlop’ upon hitting the floor. Papyrus eyes the shucked, discolored garment critically. “Huh. Wonder if that’ll wash off.”

“Well if you hadn’t been such an _asshole_ , you wouldn’t have to shower at all!” Crim grumbles next to him, exaggerating the movements of wiping away the slimy residue from his hand onto his pants.

“Ah come on, buddy, it was just a tiny prank.”

Crim still seems unamused. “It was an asshole move and you fuckin’ know it.”

“How could I have known your Amalgamates are “bloodthirsty creatures of unimaginable horror”?” Papyrus says, even doing quotation marks as he repeats what Crim had told him in the pissy aftermath of his Endogeny-induced terror. “If I had known you were that scared of them, I wouldn’t have teased you.”

“I’m not scared!” Crim exclaims. Papyrus rolls his eyes at him.

_“Sure.”_

“I’m not!” Papyrus just looks at him without saying anything, lifting a brow. It causes Crim to growl at him and throw his hands in the air.

“ _Fine_ , be that way,” he says before mumbling a quiet, “you bastard.” Papyrus almost wants to laugh again.

Crim pinches his shirt between a forefinger and thumb and lifts it away from his chest. The shirt comes away from with a wet sound. He makes a disgusted grimace before letting it drop again.

“Looks like I’m not the only one that needs a shower,” Papyrus comments.

“Shut up.” Crim points a finger at Papyrus’ face seconds later. “Know what, smartass? Have fun standing there while I take a shower.” Crim gives him the finger and a wide grin before he vanishes in a small swirl of red. Moments later, Papyrus hears the shower turn on, and he shakes his head at Crim’s petty attempt at “revenge”. Crim knows as well as Papyrus does that if he goes anywhere near the furniture while he’s covered in amalgamate goo and Sans finds out, he’s in for one a hell of a lecture. But, what Crim _doesn’t_ know is that this house doesn’t have the only shower Papyrus can use.

He does a quick check of himself, trying to get a feel for his magic reserves. It’s as low as ever, but it should be more than enough for the small trip he has to make.

His living room is quickly replaced by the hallway of a home he has spent countless hours in. It’s darker here, much warmer and the air is humid. It’s the perfect conditions for his dear friend and her brood. The place has no windows, which isn’t weird considering it’s technically a basement. Instead, the walls are decorated with large hanging fabrics mimicking windows and providing optimal places for the tiny spider kin to rest.

The furniture consists of the same old pieces she has had for as long as Papyrus has known her: a collection of old antique couches, armchairs and tables. All of the seating furniture has dark blue velour upholstering and the tables are all crafted from a dark oak wood. None of it has ever looked water damaged, but Papyrus knows that’s because she brought all of her belongings with her from the Overworld when monsters were forced into the Underground. It still blows his mind that his best friend was alive during the Great War.

Above him he can hear the Café and buzz of its patrons’ voices. If he knows Muffet right, she’s up there with them at the moment, despite it being a few hours before she normally gets up. She’s usually not in the Café until the late afternoon, instead leaving it to her faithful helpers to provide for the customers. But Papyrus has noticed that she has started getting up so early that she’s in the Café around noon every day and vanishing to take a nap a few hours later. He still hasn’t managed to get a moment to ask her why.

He slips into her bathroom and quickly turns on the shower, letting the water heat up while he undresses. He grabs a blanket from a cabinet and the small stash of skeleton specific shower supplies Muffet keeps in the back for him. It includes a polishing body wash that helps keep his bones healthy and a small brush for easier cleaning in his joints. Papyrus can’t even remember when Muffet had started storing this for him, but he feels a tiny bit bad for using her shower enough for her to go through the effort.

Due to him not having a chance to grab his own body rinse from the bathroom before Crim commandeered it, Papyrus has to use Muffet’s. It has a rich floral scent that’s so distinctly _Muffet_ , and it’s softening quality makes Papyrus’ entire body feel soft and smooth, like he’d covered himself in grease. It lessens a bit as he washes it off, but some of the pleasant feeling stays behind.

He dries himself off as much as possible, but as he finishes he realizes that he doesn’t have any clean clothes to put on. Everything is soaked in slime and Dump goop and Papyrus is left with the option of either raiding Muffet’s closet in the hope of finding something that fits him, or teleporting to his room. The second option isn’t an option after all. His magic is too low. So all he has left is the raid.

* * *

Thankfully, he returns home before he freezes in the much-too-small bathrobe he’d borrowed from Muffet, and perhaps even _more_ thankfully, before Crim is done in the bathroom. He has just enough time to run to his room to change out of the borrowed garment.

Papyrus is spread over the couch, wearing fresh new clothes from his closet and a satisfied smirk on his face when Crim finally emerges. The resulting confusion lighting up on Crim’s face makes all the extra spent magic worth the effort, and Papyrus basks in it. He feels a sense of pride and a bubbling joy in his chest from watching Crim’s expression change ever so slightly as his mind tries to solve the mystery.

When it finally does, Crim rolls his eyes at Papyrus’ widening smile.

“Fuckin’ Muffet,” Crim curses, shaking his head. “Of course.”

“Crim zero, Slick two,” Papyrus says, drawing an invisible line on an invisible blackboard in the air.

“Cheater,” he throws at Papyrus, but his voice holds no sting. Almost immediately after it’s out, Crim can’t stop smiling back at him. In a quick flash he vanishes and reappears, falling into the couch where Papyrus had just made room for him by sitting up.

Moments later they hear a faint bump from Papyrus’ room followed quickly by a meow. Missy descends the staircase, tail held high and eyes half closed. She’s purring loudly when she jumps on top of Papyrus and uses his lap as a bridge to get to Crim. As soon as she’s within range, Crim scoops her up and starts scratching her behind the ear, to Missy’s delight.

Exhaustion finally hits Papyrus in a wave of deliriousness when he leans back. As soon as his spine meets the comfortable curve of the back of the couch, it’s like the energy he has felt throughout the day evaporates in an instant. It’s taking all of his willpower not to pass out on the spot, and because of this, he only belatedly realizes that Crim has been talking to him for an indeterminate amount of time.

“...right?” The other finishes, looking up at him hopefully with one hand absently scratching deep into the thick mane of the cat on his lap.

Papyrus, completely lost, blinks owlishly at the skeleton next to him and hedges a hazy ‘mhm’. That answer seems to mollify Crim into silence and a renewed focus on the purring menace. However, the comfortable silence that takes the place of Crim’s voice is a little _too_ comfortable. Amidst it, though, one thought pushes through the fuzz quickly clouding his head.

“Hey.” When Crim glances at him, he continues, “Thanks for having my back earlier.”

Crim’s shrug, when it comes, is obviously exaggerated and that fact makes Papyrus smile. _He’s a lot nicer than he likes to let on,_ he thinks, remembering how the obviously terrified monster tried to protect him from the ‘dangerous, bloodthirsty’ Endogeny. _Crim’s a good guy._

With that thought, sleep’s enticing embrace begins to pull him under. He tries to prevent it. He throws an arm around the back of the couch. Crosses his ankles. He shifts his position no less than five times, but in the end, it’s all an exercise in futility. Slowly, inexorably, he succumbs to the vibrating hum of the cat and the drone of the TV.

The next thing he knows, there’s a hand on his shoulder gently shaking him awake. He takes a deep breath and the hand hovers for a second before brushing off of him.

“Hey.” Crim’s voice comes from just above and behind him. The oddness of that doesn’t immediately register, as Papyrus is far too content to bask in how comfortable he feels. “I, uh, letcha sleep in, but we should probably get goin’ soon if we wanna make it in time to do anythin’.”

As he creeps back into waking, he’s increasingly aware of a slight, warm weight nestled just below his ribcage and a much warmer pillow behind his head. However, when the ‘pillow’ shifts beneath him, the belated realization finally pierces through the thick fog of sleep.

One hand reaching for the back of the couch, he hauls himself off of Crim. The very end of a rust-colored, bushy tail pokes out of the base of his hoodie as he sits up, and he can feel tiny, needle-like claws poking through his light undershirt. Aside from that, though, he feels pretty good; the nap has left him recharged. There’s only one problem.

“Eh, sorry about falling asleep on you there,” he apologizes. He has the decency to look a little sheepish. How long had he spent lying on Crim when his entire objective had been to avoid that? “Uh, literally,” he adds belatedly as he tugs at the edge of his hoodie, revealing a miffed, fluffy ball of kitten.

Crim, much to his surprise, just shrugs a shoulder from where he’s still leaning with one elbow against the armrest. “Whatever. You looked half-dead when you passed out. S’been a long day for both of us. And, speakin’ of.” He stretches with a grunt before leaning forward on his knees. “M’gonna make it longer. You ready to go?”

The expectant look he’s receiving only spurs confusion. Go _where_ ? He hides it under the cover of trying to gently edge the grumpy cat off of his lap, receiving a soft growl in return for his efforts. He doesn’t remember agreeing to anything tonight, honestly. Was there something going on in town? What is it that he’s forgetting, and _what_ , exactly, did he sign himself up for?

“Yeah, sure,” Papyrus says, thinking he did a fairly good job at keeping the frustration out of his voice. At worst, it could be directed at the kitten, who doesn’t seem to want to budge from where she’s got her tiny claws stubbornly hooked through two layers of material.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Crim roll his eyelights before reaching over to give the kitten a quick scratch beneath the chin. However, Papyrus isn’t ready when the same hand plucks the feline straight off his lap with the sound of ripping velcro. He flinches back automatically, which earns a chuckle from Crim.

“Slick, I trimmed her nails _yesterday._ Stop bein’ a babybones.” He stands and deposits the miraculously docile feline in the spot he’d just vacated. She immediately flops over with a satisfied grumble.

“Yeah, you better get comfy,” he continues as he walks off to grab his coat from where it’s hanging near the door. “Ya wouldn’t like mic night anyway.”

 _Mic night? Oh. OH._ It’s embarrassing how brightly the recognition flares in his head. Karaoke night at Muffet’s. How could he have forgotten that was today? It’s one of the more well-known events in Snowdin, and one of the only things people speak about in the few days leading up, thanks to it only occurring once every two months.

He presses the tip of his thumb into the middle of his forehead to ground himself as Crim yells up the stairs. He’s lacing up his boots when the words “ _Five seconds_!” pipe out from the open door to Sans’ room. Sans apparently came home while Papyrus was out cold. Suddenly, his last text saying he would be home at seven makes so much more sense. Sans never misses a karaoke night.

“ _One,_ ” yells Crim a second later, making Papyrus chuckle as he finally removes himself from the comfort of the couch.

“You’re not funny!” The exaggerated aggravation in Sans’ voice makes Papyrus smile despite himself.

“ _Two_ ,” Crim yells back before turning to Papyrus with an easy smirk. “And I’m fuckin’ hilarious.”

“Three,” Papyrus calls as he ambles over to the door, hands in his hoodie pockets. His voice doesn’t carry as easily as the other two, but the shrill “NOOOO” coming from the room tells him that Sans had definitely heard him.

Crim’s grin only widens, and he opens the door with obnoxious, completely necessary loudness, allowing the nighttime breeze of Snowdin to drift into the otherwise warm home. “ _Four._ ”

Papyrus steps past him out into the chill, and it does wonders towards helping him shake off any remaining grogginess.

“We’ll save you a parfait, bro!” he calls from the doorway just before Crim shuts it with a sense of finality. The two of them casually move away from the front steps, and he shares a chuckle with Crim by the couple of mailboxes staked by the side of the road.

It isn’t long before the door of the skeleton household opens and shuts noisily, however, and it’s a short second later when they end up facing a very put-out, well-dressed Sans.

“You two don’t know how to wait,” he accuses, looking down his scrunched-up nasal ridge at both of them somehow, but the finger he waggles is aimed in Crim’s direction. “And you are a _horrid_ influence.”

“M’even better _under_ the influence,” drawls Crim without missing a beat, to which Sans rolls his eyes, unaware that he wasn’t finished. “...And so’s whoever’s gonna be under _mine_.” The positively lascivious grin he’s wearing is perfectly completed with a lewd wink, and it causes his brother to reel backwards.

Both the horror that crosses Sans’ face and the awful joke itself make Papyrus skip chuckling altogether, and the hilarity manifests instead as an obvious, snorting laugh that he doesn’t bother covering. “You are both a couple of filthy _reprobates_ , you know that?” Sans brushes past both of them, throwing up his arms as he takes the lead towards Muffet’s, apparently determined not to look at either of them.

“Kid has noooo idea,” Papyrus almost misses Crim mutter to himself in amusement under his breath.

* * *

 

The Café is absolutely buzzing when they arrive, filled to the brim with monsters in various states of intoxication. Muffet is amidst tearing a small sheet off of her pad of paper and handing it to one of her brood hanging down from the ceiling when they step through the door.

“Hello there dearies!” she calls over the sound of a rabbit - definitely one of Rent’s siblings, Papyrus thinks - having fun attempting to sing [ ‘Mickey’ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-dLnvB9w2us) hilariously out of tune atop a heavily decorated stage. She smiles brightly at all three of them, but her five-eyed gaze sticks on Papyrus the longest.

He waves and sends her a smile as he follows Crim closely to an empty booth. The small paper card on the table with “Reserved” written across it explains why it’s still empty despite the Café brimming with monsters. Crim takes the paper card and crumples it in his hand as he slides into the booth. Papyrus follows suit and takes the outer seat that Crim abandoned in favor for the middle one up against the wall.

“Sooo glad I paid Muffet to save us a good spot,” Crim says. Papyrus notices Crim’s gaze sticking to Muffet as she makes her way through the crowd taking orders. There’s a constant string of tiny spiders dropping from the ceiling and disappearing again while drinks appear seemingly out of nowhere to be delivered to a variety of happy customers. There are even a number of monsters here that he rarely ever sees in Snowdin, such as a wetsuit-sporting salamander and a pair of hovering madjicks trying to show off a party trick to a nervous-looking avian monster in a thick sweater.

Papyrus looks for Sans and finds him standing near a table in the middle, talking to Rent and Rent’s siblings. Sans is grinning at Rent, one arm thrown over their shoulder. Rent is obviously in the middle of one of their rants about whatever new topic they’re obsessed with, gesturing wildly and passionately in the air with their hands.

“Damn she looks good today,” Crim comments, nudging Papyrus with an elbow. When Papyrus looks at him, Crim gestures subtly towards Muffet again.

When he catches an eyeful of her outfit, Papyrus has to agree with him. She’s sporting a v-cut dress with purple so dark it’s almost black. Embroidered with a series of intricate, silken patterns, the airy material shimmers with her every movement, seeming almost metallic in the dimmed light of the Café. She’s allowed her hair to fall down to her mid-back tonight, and an ornate comb keeps the rest neatly pinned up at the back of her head. Each of her six gloved hands are covered by partially transparent, light gossamer weavings, with the sleeves not quite reaching her elbows. It’s not one of the outfits Papyrus has seen her in before, and as always, he’s impressed with her ability to completely own a look.

“Yeah, she usually dresses up for these events,” he says, turning back to eye Crim’s captivated look with a grin. “She loves having the Café full of people.” When Crim’s eyes don’t stray from Muffet and he realizes that the guy isn’t hearing a word he’s saying, Papyrus leans his cheek against his palm. Following Crim’s gaze, he watches Muffet weave her way through both tables and customers with ease as she draws ever closer to their booth. When she finally arrives, she looks a bit out of breath, but her smile is big and her eyes are shining with joy.

“Hello boys,” she says as she leans down and plants a kiss on his left cheek before letting Papyrus pull her into a short hug. When she pulls back, she picks at his hoodie and rolls her eyes. “You couldn’t have worn a nice shirt instead? It’s a special night after all,” she says.

“Every night with you is special,” Papyrus returns without missing a beat, giving her a wink. He gets another, more exaggerated roll of many eyes as a response.

“Then you should dress up every night, dearie.” She hums a light laugh and shakes her head when all Papyrus does is smile at her. “It’s nice to see you out and about Pap,” she tells him.

Papyrus shrugs. “Good company is hard to say no to,” he answers honestly. He gestures to Crim, whose eyelights snap quickly between him and Muffet. “Besides, this one wouldn’t let me sleep.”

“I let you sleep on me for three hours,” Crim defends himself, speaking so quickly that he almost trips over his own words. “Ungrateful bastard,” he mutters, shooting a look at Papyrus.

“He’s a good pillow,” Papyrus tells Muffet, whose fanged smile only widens.

“You’re certainly in a good mood today,” she says. “Anyway, I would love to stay and chat, but I have to tend to my guests. So,” she says, brandishing a pen and a small pad of paper with her uppermost set of arms, “what can I get you boys?”

“Just my usual!” Sans says, sliding into the free spot in the booth and smiling widely up at Muffet. “Hi Muffet, you look fantastic!”

“Well hello! You look fairly dapper yourself, Sans. One Sex on the Beach coming right up,” Muffet says. The whole table turns to Crim at his loud snort of amusement. His grin sticks to Sans for a few moments before it easily slips over to Muffet instead, the goading expression taking a downright saucy turn as his eyesockets lower slightly.

“Ya know what I like, beautiful. Surprise me.” Muffet’s shocked stare lasts for almost a full second before her happy smile shifts to a predatory one that Papyrus knows all too well.

“Oh, I will,” she purrs back at him. That look on her face screams of trouble, and he kind of wants to warn Crim that he’s treading some mighty dangerous waters, but one look at him makes Papyrus bite his tongue. Crim is absolutely _enthralled_ by the subtle shift in Muffet’s poise as she leans forward while she writes in his order, looking as if he could eat her whole. Suddenly, Papyrus has an idea as to why Muffet keeps waking up around noon and Crim always spends his lunches here.

She turns to Papyrus and tilts her head the tiniest bit. Papyrus isn’t sure if anyone but him notices the almost non-existent gesture or the flick of eyes towards the many shelves of alcohol behind the bar. “Same as always, Pap?” she asks.

“Yeah, gimme the crab apple one.”

“Coming right up!” she says as she hands over the note to the spider dropping from above. “See you boys in a bit.” She leaves them with a tiny double armed wave.

“Man, what a crowd, huh?” Crim comments after Muffet leaves his line of sight.

“People come all the way from the Capital for this event,” Sans is quick to answer. “It’s a big deal.”

“No kidding,” Crim agrees as he eyes the disco ball spinning slowly among the many silver stars dangling from the ceiling. Crim also looks to the redecorated walls that now host a darker red color with a raised eyebrow. Papyrus knows it’s just curtains Muffet hangs up to help facilitate the image of her Café being a high-end establishment, but they also catch the light from the disco ball in a hundred glittering rainbow dots. When someone takes the stage in front of the karaoke machine, a few spotlights also flicker on - controlled by the brood on the ceiling, of course - creating the illusion of it being a professional gig.

“Plus it’s Happy Hour Night,” Papyrus adds. “Muffet only has one every four months and it’s rare that it ends up being the same night as a karaoke night. Happens like once every other year or something. So it’s double the fun today.”

“Which explains why there’s so many here tonight,” Sans finishes for him, making a sweep of his hand that includes the crowd of monsters inhabiting the Café. “No one misses the Happy Karaoke night. It’s the biggest event in the Underground!”

The drinks arrive no sooner than Sans had finished speaking, coming down from the ceiling in little silken nests with the bottoms of the glasses poking through the meticulous weave. Papyrus gets a kick out of watching Crim try to keep a straight face while a number of Muffet’s helpers unwrap the nests and finally return them to the ceiling. It doesn’t surprise him too much despite knowing how familiar Crim is with the place, because he knows that the guy usually sits at the front counter when he eats here. Muffet probably handed him most of his orders herself.

Sans seems to have noticed Crim’s discomfort too, because after he gives the spiders a parting wave, he turns to him with curious eyelights. “Not a huge fan of spiders?”

“Eh, I like some more than others,” Crim says, eyelights first inspecting his drink - a Blue Lagoon with the bright color of an echo flower - before turning back over to the crowd, likely trying to catch another glimpse of Muffet.

“Is that so?” Sans says as Crim puts his drink to his mouth for the first time to taste it. “Well,” he continues, a bright smile on his face, “did you know that Muffet only uses the highest-end materials at her disposal to make everything here at the Café? Most of them are brought in from Waterfall, and some directly from the Capital, but...”

Papyrus notices that Crim has already completely tuned Sans out in favor of the newest singer on the stage - a bear monster with a laughably small hat - who seems invested in her version of “[ Like a Prayer ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79fzeNUqQbQ)”. However, his brother is nothing if not driven to make a point.

“...what really offsets the expense for maintaining the Café and being able to stock a menu like this is due to the fact that the other ingredients are heavily supplemented with her own base material: Spiders.”

They’re both witness to Crim pausing mid-sip, nearly going cross-eyed as he stares at his drink. To his credit, he swallows before training his eyelights on Papyrus, who nods in confirmation.

“Yeah, it’s true,” he says, clinking a finger against the side of his own glass, making the amber liquid shudder. “It’s animal husbandry, but on a really tiny scale. The spiders aren’t, uh, intelligent or anything, though.”

Crim’s eyelights return to the glass, and he produces a thoughtful ‘huh’ before he goes straight back to drinking it. “The more you fuckin’ know.”

If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn that there was a look of irritation on Sans’ face for a split-second. He puts it down to the many stark shadows in the Café making it even harder to see than usual. Either way, his attention is stolen by a quick double tap of Crim’s fingers against the wood of the table.

“Hey, what was that called again?” Crim says, gesturing to Papyrus’ drink.

Papyrus glances down to where his hand is still wrapped around the stem of the as of yet untouched glass. The cider inside is a darker, honey-colored mixture not too unlike his magic, with a number of bubbles running through it and a light layer of white froth at the top. “Uh, it’s a kind of crab apple cider,” he says lamely, brow furrowing as he tries to remember its specific label. All he can recall is that Muffet named it something fairly over the top.

Sans immediately perks up at his hesitant tone. “Oh, it’s called-”

“Don’t care!” Crim says with a dismissive roll of his eyelights before they land on Papyrus. “Lemme try it.”

“No.” His response is sudden and far more defensive than he’d expected his own voice to sound.

However, that doesn’t seem to deter Crim at all. “Aw, come on,” he says, a grin edging its way over his face as he leans over the table. “It’s just a sip.”

“Nope,” he retorts, moving the glass far out of Crim’s reach. “Get your own.”

Now twice rebuffed, Crim sits back with another, more annoyed eyeroll. “ _Fine_ , I will.” He slides out of the booth and walks off with a huff and a muttered curse no doubt aimed at Papyrus, who breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

“And don’t steal anyone else’s, either!” Sans calls after him, which earns him a lazy middle finger from over Crim’s right shoulder.

“I swear, he gets more insufferable by the day,” Sans says, his whole nasal cavity wrinkling up as he follows Crim’s departure.

“Eh, give him a break. Today’s been kinda weird for him,” he says in Crim’s defense before taking his first sip of the cider. It’s true, honestly. The guy only hours ago had been scared shitless by Endogeny, no matter how much he’d tried to deny it.

Sans’ next comment is interrupted by the little bell over the door, which comes just after the end of a decent cover of [ “Sugar, Sugar” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JywK_5bT8z0) by a couple of young snowdrakes. The ding sounds louder than usual in the silence between two songs, and it steals their attention. At the sight of who’s walking through the door, his lazy smile stiffens and his body goes rigid. For a split second he actually considers teleporting out before she sees him, but he doesn’t. He can’t keep running from his fuck ups, he tells himself.

Undyne looks exactly like he remembers her: Large blue glasses and messy red hair collected in a high ponytail, expression open and warm. He almost expects her to be wearing her usual science get-up underneath her coat, complete with lab coat and the messy shoulder bag hanging on her back, but he knows she won’t be. Not when she’s wearing that long coat. Her smile is huge as she waves to a few monsters in the Café. She looks happy, he thinks. But Papyrus doesn’t miss the fact that she doesn’t wave at Muffet, or that her smile falls a bit when she sees the lady spider behind the bar.

Sans lets out a happy squeal when he sees Alphys enter right behind Undyne, and suddenly, Papyrus knows why she’s wearing the long coat.

Alphys’ presence stirs the crowd in the Café. Even though she’s nodding greetings everywhere and dealing out fistbumps and handshakes like they’re going out of fashion, she only has eyes for Undyne it seems. She parts the way through the sea of monsters for them and guides Undyne through until they reach an empty table in the middle of the room. When he turns to tell Sans, the seat containing his brother is already empty and Papyrus sees him join them, greeting Alphys with a hug and Undyne with a high five.

Crim appears out of nowhere in front of him, blocking his view of the little reunion. Papyrus is secretly grateful. “What’s wrong?” Crim asks him when he notices Papyrus’ expression.

“Nothing,” Papyrus is quick to answer. He looks at the table in front of him, but all he finds to help him pretend nothing is wrong is his drink. He takes a sip.

“That look ain’t nothin’,” Crim comments, but he doesn’t push further and Papyrus doesn’t offer any other answer. It seems like Crim doesn’t care, because he slides into the booth like nothing happened. He moves into the middle seat again before carefully putting down his new tall glass of cider and an equally new Piña Colada next to the already half-empty Blue Lagoon.

Papyrus envies him for a short second before shoving that desire out of his mind. Desperate for a real distraction, he turns his eyes on Crim and watches as he takes a mouthful of the cider.

He looks thoughtful for a moment, turning the glass between his fingers to study the liquid. “Okay,” he says, “I get why you wouldn’t share. This is great.”

“Exactly,” Papyrus agrees. “Muffet makes this one especially for Happy Hour Night.”

“That explains why I haven’t had it yet,” Crim says before draining half of what remains in his glass. He lets out a satisfied ‘ahh’ sound and licks his teeth. “Damn, that’s good,” he mumbles to himself.

Papyrus taps a few fingers on the table as they listen to the next three songs in companionable silence. Old Bert - a huge white pelican birdmonster of the water bird family - completely fails his attempt at [ “Barbie Girl” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZyhrYis509A) as always. It’s a moment of laughter and when the song ends Old Bert winks at the crowd. He laughs with people as he steps down from the stage and Papyrus shakes his head fondly at the old man. He does that every year just to make people laugh.

After an almost perfect performance of[ “Lady Marmalade” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQa7SvVCdZk) by four giggling teenagers that Papyrus remembers seeing in and around Snowdin, a cat monster - one Papyrus vaguely remembers people calling Burgerpants for some reason - takes the stage. The song [ “Flesh” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEfKooMunLI) starts playing, and Papyrus knows that they’re soon reaching the part of the night where a section of the floor is converted to a dancefloor. This guy always sings this song and it always ends the same way.

As Papyrus listens to the cat monster and watches as more and more people push tables and chairs out of the way so they can dance, he suddenly becomes aware of a presence at his left side. Looking over, he finds Crim sliding closer with that saucy look on his face again.

“Hey there pal,” Papyrus says. “What’re you doing?” Something in Crim’s eyes sparks and Papyrus swears he sees a brief flash of red.

“Nothin’,” Crim answers. “Just hanging with my buddy.”

“Mmh hmm,” Papyrus hums. “You’ve had too much to drink, ‘buddy’.”

“I’m fine, not even drunk,” Crim says, and Papyrus is sure he can hear the faint, ironic slurring in the words.

“Sure,” Papyrus says, eyeing the four empty drinks on the table and the half-empty one left behind.

“Whaddya say we get outta here and, uh, find somethin’ better t’do?” Crim suddenly says.

Papyrus lifts a brow bone. “Got anything in mind?” he asks slowly.

“Um, I can come up with a few ideas, yeah.” The implications of that answer paired with the wanton grin he’s wearing make Papyrus pause, startled at Crim’s sudden interest. Just an hour ago Crim had been all over Muffet, and now he’s trying to get it on with Papyrus? What’s going on?

Papyrus tilts his head and studies Crim’s face with worry in his soul. His friend has been acting off all day and Papyrus can’t figure out why. It’s so unlike Crim to be _nice_ like this and he’s been acting like he is ready to jump on whoever-

_Oh._

_OH._

Another look into Crim’s eyes confirms his sudden hunch. His eyelights are now ablaze with a calm and soothing magic, very unlike the raw and wild kind Papyrus had experienced before. _This_ magic feels alluring and tempting - not dangerous.

A grin splits Papyrus’ face. Oh, this is too good to be true. Crim is in _heat_ ** _(*)_** and he hasn’t even noticed it yet.

How long must he have been without a partner to be _this_ affected by his heat? It’s been a long time since Papyrus’ soul had enough magic to even _think_ about going through that again, but he remembers having at least _some_ control over himself, even if his magic made him blind to how hilarious his attempts at flirting were. Crim seems almost completely gone, like he doesn’t even realize he’s acting this way.

It’s too tempting. A chance to tease Crim like this is rare and Papyrus can’t resist.

He lets his sockets lower too as he leans closer and tilts his head, playing at considering Crim’s offer. “I don’t know,” he muses, “I don’t think our friendship is ready for the “with benefits” attachment yet.” Papyrus bites his tongue to keep himself from saying anything else, ready to watch his master plan unfold.

“Aw man, you’re breaking my soul here,” Crim says. An arm sneaks its way around Papyrus’ waist and Crim slides even closer, until his ribcage is practically pressed against the guy’s soft side and his face is inches away. It takes everything Papyrus has in him to not laugh out loud. Crim is _so gone_ and it’s _hilarious_. “I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”

Papyrus tilts his head to the other side, pretending to consider again. “Well, maybe you should sing me a song. Woo me,” he says.

Crim’s face lights up. “Darlin’, I’ll do just that.” He’s out of the booth before Papyrus can blink and forces his way through the crowd quickly. When he arrives at the line for the stage, Papyrus sees a few monsters stick their heads together and point subtly at Crim. Like Papyrus, they probably can’t wait to see Crim fail. It’s best part of karaoke night - drunk monsters attempting to sing and bombing their attempts miserably.

Crim’s turn is up and he jumps onto the stage with confidence. He’s winking at people and saying something Papyrus can’t quite hear over the buzz of conversations, looking like he’s not even worried. When the unmistakable introduction for one of the most iconic songs in existence comes on over the jukebox, Papyrus sees Crim’s expression immediately turn sour. He rolls his eyelights, and for a second Papyrus thinks he’s going to leave the stage.

Muffet must have noticed his literal change of tune too, because she calls out to him from behind her counter with a devilish smile that displays her fangs. “You can always change it if you don’t think you can handle it, dearie.” Crim’s eyelights snap to her instantly.

“Yeah, there’s no shame in admitting you can’t do it Crim!” Sans calls up to him from where he sits in between Rent, Undyne and Alphys.

Something changes in Crim’s stance. He straightens and pushes his chest out as he stares Sans down for a second before looking away. When their eyes meet for a moment, Papyrus gives him a distinctly unhelpful shrug. If anything, it seems to spur Crim on, as his face splits in a wide grin.

“Babe,” he says in Muffet’s direction as he takes the microphone from the stand, “I got this.”

As the intro to the song finishes, a startling change happens in Crim. His posture suddenly becomes softer, as does his expression. His eyes slide shut and he takes a deep breath. Papyrus feels himself bracing for the inevitable backlash that’s about to happen, just waiting for that moment where Crim starts singing and the entire Café starts laughing. It happens eighty percent of the time during a first performance and Papyrus has no doubt Crim will-

Crim opens his mouth and the first line he sings has the crowd sucking in a collective breath of disbelief.

[ _“_ _I heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord…”_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btctp2Jl3wY)

His voice is deep, silky smooth. It has just a hint of roughness as the words twist over his tongue. There’s no word missed, no uncertainness and no shaking, none of that nervousness that’s so common to hear from the people forced onto the stage by their friends. Crim is confident and it’s obvious as the song switches into the chorus, singing “Hallelujah” with a tenderness in his voice that makes Papyrus’ soul feel tight. His voice is heavy with emotion and when he switches back to the second verse, it happens flawlessly, like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.

The longer he sings, the more animated he gets. He lifts a hand and waves it through the air, as if he’s the conductor of his own performance. The power in his voice rises as he comes close to the end and when the final, high pitched section arrives, Crim throws his head back and nails it perfectly.

Papyrus notices _nothing_ around him until the applause starts breaking out, drowning out the final ‘Hallelujah’ of the song. Crim is clearly out of breath when he lowers the mic and smiles at the room, but he still points at Muffet and winks at her.

“Told ya I had it,” he says in the microphone before he puts it down. Muffet is shaking her head at him, but she looks impressed too.

Crim jumps off the stage and is instantly showered with shoulder claps, compliments and thumbs ups. The applause that still hasn’t quite died out yet tapers off when he makes his way through the crowd, headed for Papyrus.

Crim falls into the booth. A few tired laughs escape him when a few monsters shout “you rule!” after him. He turns to look at Papyrus and only then does he realize that his mouth is wide open. It snaps closed with a click.

“Phew,” Crim says. He’s still a bit out of breath and it doesn’t surprise Papyrus. He would have passed out from a lack of oxygen if he had attempted even a shadow of what Crim had just done. “That was somethin’, huh?” he says.

When Papyrus doesn’t answer, Crim’s smile grows. “What’s up, Slick?”

“That was incredible,” Papyrus finally says, the words tumbling out of him. “I had no idea you could sing.”

Crim waves a hand at him dismissively. “Eh, it was nothin’,” he says. His face shifts into that flirty expression again. “So…” Whatever he was about to say, it’s interrupted by Doggo. He easily steals Crim’s attention, making Crim forget all about flirting, and in some way Papyrus doesn’t really mind that his prank failed. He leans back, comfortable with just sinking into the background as he listens to Doggo and Crim engage in a conversation about something Papyrus doesn’t catch at all.

As he watches Crim’s hands do excited gestures in the air, Papyrus is struck with a strange feeling. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but it feels a bit like curiosity. There’s so much more to Crim than he thought, that he has yet to see… and he can’t wait to find out what really makes the guy tick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _(*) Heat:_  
>  **  
>  _While not specific to skeleton monsters per se, heat for their species is a periodic event lasting from a day and up to a week, where a skeleton monster’s magic forces their libido into overdrive. It’s their magic showcasing that they are physically/magically ready for the challenges that having a mate demands of them. Seeking partnerships is how their magic overcomes their natural weaknesses, giving them a higher chance of survival and procreation. They are naturally vulnerable and highly dependant on their magic to survive, because they have very little physical body mass. Most of their bodies are made of magic and if that magic runs out (is used faster than the soul can produce it), they Fall Down and eventually die. Low magic prevents the heat from happening. Being in heat drains a lot of magic from the monster and they will be tired and weak afterwards. Magic taint/soulbonds/soul-touching from an outside source (another soul, no matter the species) prevents heat from occurring, and thanks to how skeleton monsters have sex (magical means instead of biological), the heats are very likely to occur if the monster does not have regular intercourse or have a mate. The longer the period without any kind of intercourse, the longer and stronger the heat is. Time between heat cycles can vary, but there’s advance warning if they are aware of it. Their magic is overactive, sensitive and they feel warmer than usual due to it “overheating”/collecting in preparation for the actual heat(thereof the name “heat”). The heat makes the monster temporarily lose most or all inhibitions. What seems subtle to the person in heat is very much NOT SUBTLE AT ALL basically._


	12. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay it took forever but we got some stuff down! Looks like the new schedule is gonna be every three weeks until we can build up a new buffer. After that, we can go back to posting more regularly!
> 
> Come scream at us on tumblr!  
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~

## ~ Chapter Twelve ~  
**Aftermath**

_“It's too late to change events_  
_It's time to face the consequence_  
_For delivering the proof  
In the policy of truth”_

[ _“Policy of Truth”_ by Depeche Mode  
](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIWT8enKI4I)

* * *

_"I’m stuck in a timeloop,”_ is the first thing Crim thinks when he grudgingly returns to wakefulness, the dim morning light from the window into the room feeling like a lance piercing straight into the cracks in his eyesockets and all the way through his head. His entire body feels sluggish and weak, and when he clears his throat, it aches like he’d spent all night shouting. His skull feels like it’s about to split in two and his soul feels drained. For a terrifying second, that empty feeling making him irrationally think that he’s gone back in time and he’s waking up on the couch again like he did the first day he got here.

When he opens his eyes and sees Missy’s furry, orange butt inches from his face, he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Then images from last night start resurfacing, and the relief vanishes. The Café, the drinking, the singing - did he _seriously_ do that!? Slick is never going to let him live that down - and _Muffet…_

He pulls the pillow he’s haphazardly laying next to, along with Missy, over his face to cover his sockets. In heavy contrast to his distress, the kitten simply executes a lazy half-roll until she’s sprawled out next to him. “Ah fffffffuuuuck,” he groans, more grit in his voice than a pathway in Hotland. If he’d fucked up the friendly thing he’d had going with Muffet, he knows he’s _really_ going to be shit out of luck.

Under the safety of his own fuckups beneath the pillow, he rakes his memories, trying to figure out what happened. Shit had gone downhill so quickly. He’d noticed the beginning of his heat way too late, and the memory of the things he’d said and did last night… _fuck._ Some of it makes him want to hide under his blankets and never come out again.  He actually remembers most of the night with awful clarity up to a certain point, after which he had no idea. It was somewhere around the point at which he’d sung his second… or was that the third song? How had he even gotten _here?_ That last hanging question honestly makes him more worried than anything else. Had he ‘ported? Had he been _alone?_ The emptiness, the drain in his soul points to no. But with fucking who, then?

Finally mustering the courage to move thanks to his anxiety overpowering the throbbing headache, he finally sits up and pushes off the sheets and blankets. The only thing that this reveals is that, aside from being naked, the bed is suspiciously clean. Well, as clean as it ever got with him sleeping in it, that is. So… he’d fucked someone else at their place and then gotten back? His eyes sweep the room, but there’s nothing else incriminating or new inside besides one of Slick’s discarded hoodies that had gotten thrown or kicked into a far corner. He ignores it - those appeared commonly enough when the two of them were working on something in here. With no other clues and no idea, he rubs the base of his palms into his eye sockets and takes a deep, frustrated breath.

That’s when he smells it, and immediately sniffs again, looking around frantically. But he quickly realizes that he doesn’t have to, because it’s coming from _him._ The scent is faint, but it’s all over him and unmistakable. The fragrant aroma that he’s come to regard as Muffet’s makes him pale, leaving one very distinct route his drunken, horny ass had taken last night.

“Ah shit...”

Yeah, he’d fucked up. He’s going to catch hell next time he steps into the Café, he’s sure. But he’s not ready to imagine the consequences of that just yet. Instead, he pushes himself out of bed, squinting as he passes the blinding morning light from the windows with one hand pressed against the side of his temple to at least pause the headache. It’s then that he catches a glimpse of movement - _his_ movement - when he passes the mirror.

He’s personally not a huge fan of mirrors, but he also didn’t complain when Blue had deposited a full-length one inside alongside the small dresser appropriated from Slick’s room. It honestly wasn’t an argument he’d wanted to have - or give the guy more ammo to needle him with - and if it started pissing him off enough, he knew he could always flip the reflective side over. Surprisingly, it hadn’t gotten to that point yet.

When he stops to look blearily at his reflection, the ornate, brass trimming at the edges frames him perfectly, and the sight of his figure makes him pause. Aside from being butt naked and looking like fresh hell - which he’d expected after the previous night - there’s something else that bothers him.

While not unaware of the effects of conserving magic over a long period of time, he still doesn’t expect to find himself so… well. Soft. Not _already_ , anyway. It’s not that it’s implausible or anything, but it’s just… it’s that he didn’t think he’d spent long enough in this universe for this to already have such a noticeable effect on him. He hadn’t had any prominent ecto flesh since he was a kid; the magic he’d used on a daily basis had easily prevented anything from building up to anything physical.

Now that he’s witness to the apparent effects of his conservation effort, he critically notes the distinct edges and fuller curves of his ecto-body, which a few weeks prior had only been a blurry outline in a much more contained area. When before it was just a thin film over his stomach and his lowest two ribs, his magic has now officially claimed his entire ribcage, thicker and darker at the bottom and spread out in an almost invisible barrier of lighter red all the way up to his collarbones. When he turns ever so slightly, he notes that it’s also overtaken his back as well. Suddenly, it’s no big surprise as to why he’d recently been having issues wearing the loose-fitting clothes he’d picked up. It isn’t Blue playing some shitty prank with the wash after all - it’s all of his new inches.

He’s a bit conflicted about this revelation. On one hand, the fact that he looks like this already means that he probably has enough magic to leave right now if he had enough of a mind to direct it. As it is, he doesn’t think he can teleport two feet right now without ending up on his ass.

On the other hand, he finds it more than a little irritating that it was so _easy_ for him to get like this, to the point where he hadn’t even noticed the steady progression. Instead of fighting and constantly being on guard - and spending tons of magic in the process - he’s gotten as far as he has through the exact opposite: by being lazy, apathetic and unaware. Hours of carefree working with Slick are compounded by countless more sitting at the Cafe and talking with… with Muffet.

That starts him down a very different, dispassionate train of thought. Of all the people she could have fucked last night, why him? Did she humor him? Probably. Or, fuck, maybe she’s into the fact he shortly won’t be able to fit into his own Stars-damned jacket, much less anything else he owns in this universe. Not that it matters now, because by all fucking appearances - hah - he’d up and left her place without so much as a parting thanks. Crim rubs his sockets again before he turns from his reflection to look for his jacket.

He spends an entire five minutes futilely scouring the place for the thing before giving up in frustration and finally throwing on some clothes - some stuff he’d bought and a few other things he’d borrowed a while ago that thankfully still fit - and pulling on his pair of boots without lacing them. Finding Missy watching him with half-lidded eyes when he turns around, he scoops her up into his arms without complaint and chooses to actually walk through the fresh snow outside to the front door. Even if he wasn’t drained, he’s still not in a mood to deal with Blue’s shit over the quick route. Best to deal with only one Stars-damned issue at a time today, he thinks. Honestly though, he shouldn’t have worried about that - one glance at the clock on the opposite wall once he’s inside tells him that Blue has long since been gone to his job as a sentry. It’s much later than he’d originally guessed. How long had he slept?

“Who fuckin’ knows,” he grumbles loudly as he kicks off his boots at the door.

“Who knows what?” replies Slick’s voice from the kitchen.

“Fuckin’ nobody,” is his caustic response as he makes his way in the direction of the question. When he enters the kitchen, he finds Slick sitting at the table with a plate of slightly burnt, honey-drenched waffles. The smell of the food is enough to generate some nausea, but it’s still better than the faint, lingering whiff of Muffet about him.

The guy looks up as he comes in, flashing Crim a subdued smile that completely contrasts his own scowl. For a moment, he’s overcome by envy that the guy doesn’t seem to be suffering at all from the aftereffects of the alcohol he’d drank last night. He’d had at least three of those ciders - Crim had counted before he’d lost track of what was going on.

“You look kinda rough,” Slick comments offhandedly.

With a great deal of effort, Crim suppresses the acidic words on the tip of his tongue, instead busying himself with with looking in the cupboard Blue keeps the tea in.

“Sooooo,” Slick continues despite Crim’s attempt at ignoring him. “You also woke up kinda late, so it’s cold now, but if you want-”

“Don’t want any fucking waffles, Slick,” he practically growls into the cabinet, not even sure what he’s looking for. As if Slick is any authority on when the fuck people are supposed to wake up. His frustration mounts as his eyelights flick between the many labels. Did he even ever ask what that tea was made from?

“It’s not waffles,” Slick says a bit more quietly this time, and the hesitance in his tone is enough to make Crim turn around.

Sitting innocently by itself on the opposite end of the kitchen table is a plain mug he’d overlooked. Between that and Slick’s sudden and intense focus on his food, Crim’s regret is immense. Feeling like an utter jackass, he sighs heavily as he closes the cabinet.

“If that’s what I think it is,” he says slowly as he moves to sit. “I owe you two apologies today.”

“It’s fine,” Slick says with a surprising amount of understanding. “I know the day after sucks.”

The first sip of the tea is as refreshing as he remembers despite it being cold, and it greatly improves his mood as it begins to subjugate his headache. He shoots Slick a grateful grin. “Yeah, but not that you’d _really_ know, right? Lucky bastard.”

Slick tosses him back an inscrutable, half-assed smile and a shrug before going back to eating. A few minutes of grateful silence and a couple destroyed waffles later, he speaks again. “So,” he says, “you can sing.”

It’s Crim’s turn to shrug. “Eh, kinda.” At Slick’s raised browbone, Crim rolls his eyelights. “Lotta people can sing. It’s not a big deal.”

“You did it, though,” Slick says, looking up at him with mischief in the set of his mouth and the edges of his eye sockets.

 _Fuck me, here it comes_ , he thinks sourly, but he’s ready to take whatever teasing Slick is about to throw at him after being forced to deal with his shittyness this morning.

“You thoroughly wooed me. Consider me wooed,” Slick continues, giving Crim a wink that he endures. “But seriously,” he says, changing tracks as his expression becomes more genuine. “I’ve never heard a guy nail Hallelujah like you did last night. The others were good, too, but damn.”

“Eh, the original guy does it much better,” he mutters at his tea, referring to the preserved copy he’s heard countless times late at night at Grillby’s.

“Guy?” Slick asks, coloring the one word with surprise.

“Yeah?” Crim responds, eyelights flicking up to Slick in confusion.

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully. “Ours is a female singer.”

Crim honestly doesn’t know what to do with that information. Despite everything he’s learned about this universe, it still manages to surprise him in the most subtle of ways. However, even though he’d impressed Slick with his half-drunken singing, it doesn’t get him out of the fact that he’d hit on literally everything around him that had a soul. And the whole thing with Muffet…

He shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “Look, about yesterday,” he says, trying to break that trainwreck of a thought. He just hopes that he can get this over with as quickly as possible so he doesn’t have to think about it again.

One hand wrapped around the mug and the other rubbing into the gaps in the back of his neck, he looks anywhere but Slick’s face. “I uh, kinda got up in your space a lil’, and I shoulda been payin’ more attention to what the fuck was happening. I mean, yer a nice guy and all, but it didn’t mean anythin’...”

“It’s fine, I know how it is,” Slick says as he trails off.

“Really?” Crim says with a light touch of sarcasm. During his time here, he hadn’t been keeping especially close tabs on Slick, but the guy had never been visibly interested in anyone else that he’d seen, heat or no. Honestly, with how bad Slick’s condition is, Crim isn’t even sure if guy actually has heats.

From across the table comes a slightly amused huff that isn’t quite a laugh. “Hey, I was fun once,” Slick says, and when Crim finally manages to look up, there’s a wry smile on the guy’s face. “It was actually kinda flattering up until your hand was on my ass.”

“Ah hell,” Crim groans, covering his face with both hands as he hears Slick chuckle across the table. Not for the first time today, he considers going straight back to sleep and pretending that last night never happened. But, just as before, he realizes he can’t delay the inevitable or Muffet might actually do _worse_ than excommunicate him from the Café for the rest of his stay here. What ‘worse’ might mean in this universe, he doesn’t know, but she strikes him as a fairly creative type.

A text rolls in and even before reading it, Crim knows it can’t be anything good. _‘We need to talk’_ is all it says. At the top of the screen, Muffet’s name glares at him.

 _Just dust me now, fuck._ Crim clears his throat, trying not to look like he’d just swallowed a bug.

Mouth still full of half-chewed waffle, Slick leans over the table in an attempt to catch a glimpse of Crim’s phone and asks, “What’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 _Yeah,_ my _ghost._ Crim shakes his head at himself. Best not to let Slick in on the fact that he’d boned the guy’s best friend last night, he thinks.  “N-nothin’, heh. Just a client,” he lies. He quickly puts his phone away and then empties the cup in front of him, hoping its healing powers can cure the permanent tight ball of nerves in his chest too.

After a lazy shrug, Slick goes back to his food, leaving Crim to his thoughts.

Crim tries to come up with a way to approach Muffet without getting on her bad side, but he comes up empty-handed. No matter what scenario he imagines or what words he tries to string together, it’ll all end up the same way - with Muffet kicking his ass. He can’t apologize, because he doesn’t remember what he did and that’s one of the worst things a guy can do to a girl: you just don’t fuck and forget. He can’t exactly blame it all on the booze and heat because that’s even worse and an asshole move to boot, but then again, telling her the truth really, really doesn’t sound appealing either.

“You’re an idiot, Crim,” he mutters to himself. Slick lifts his head, but he doesn’t offer him any advice. Instead, the guy just gives him a crooked, almost sympathetic smile, like he knows what’s coming.

Fuck, he’s so dead.

* * *

He takes his time feeding Missy before he leaves in hopes of coming up with something, but despite his stalling, he still ends up empty-handed. Without a plan or any hope of salvaging whatever he did last night, the walk to the Café feels like a funeral march. _His_ funeral.

When he sits down, Muffet appears from a back room and finds herself before him as if through some sort of vengeful magic. Her stride is practiced and purposeful, and when she leans over the counter and blinks her eyes at him slowly, he starts sweating from sheer nerves.

Stopping himself from instinctively leaning away from her intimidating stare through willpower alone, he tries to get a bead on her mood. Despite the amount of time he’d been around her, Muffet has always been a hard one for him to read - the many eyes are definitely a part of it, but over time he’d figured out that she also had a number of layers to her that Crim couldn’t even begin to guess at.

But the way she’s staring at him with that almost condescending smile, the way her lowest pair of arms are crossed over the counter-

“Why hello there, lover boy~”

 _Oh shit, she’s pissed._ He’s sure his eyelights are pinpricks right now. What the hell did he do to her yesterday?!

He offers her a nervous smile. _Alright, gotta play it cool._ “Heh, hey there Muffet.” _Fuck._

“You must be absolutely worn out after last night,” she says, her voice absolutely dripping with false sincerity.

“Yeah, last night was… uh… somethin’,” he hedges, his hands automatically reaching for the safety of jacket pockets that aren’t there. Right, he couldn’t find it before he left.

“Well, for some of us, anyway,” she complains without missing a beat. “After all, I had to do all the hard work.” She sniffs ever so slightly, looking down at him with all five of her icy, black eyes. “And you didn’t even stick around to clean up the mess you made.”

Crim feels his magic flush his face at the implications of what she’s saying. He- he doesn’t remember any of that! He wouldn’t have- Did he really pull a shitty one night stand last night…? Oh sweet fucking Stars...

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out except a strangled noise that couldn’t pass as a plea for his life, much less the apology he’s trying to voice.

“You know,” she continues, drawing out her words as she leans down to fish for something underneath the counter. “After you have a lady take care of business for you, you should at least thank her.”

Crim tries to make himself as small as possible on the opposite side of the counter. This is it, this is where she fucking kills him. _Quick! Say something! Fuck!_ “I- uh- you- I’m- I-I didn’t-”

He’s interrupted by a series of girlish giggles from Muffet as she places his neatly folded jacket, of all things, on the top of the counter before him. It has the smell of fresh detergent wafting off of it.

A confused and somewhat wary “Uh?” is all he can manage at this sudden change of attitude.

“Crim, dearie?”

“Y-yeah?” he manages to stutter out, his pinhead-sized eyelights flickering rapidly between the jacket and Muffet’s shining eyes and huge smile.

“Dear, I was referring to your laundry.”

Crim’s sockets turn black as incomprehension hits him like a brick to the face. “Uh, my…?”

She titters for a moment before continuing, smoothing out invisible creases in the material while she speaks. “Pap asked me to wash it for you when you spilled half a glass of cider on it last night. The two of you completely forgot about it when you left.”

“You- you washed my jacket,” Crim repeats slowly, so flabbergasted he can’t even understand his own words.

“Of course,” she says. A truly devilish smile stretches her lips and she leans closer again. “Why, what did _you_ think I meant?”

“I _really_ think it’s best for our friendship if I don’t answer that question,” he responds quickly, the words falling so fast out of his mouth that his tongue can barely keep up. He sucks in a rushed breath afterwards, and that must be what does it for Muffet, because she throws her head back and laughs like Crim has never heard her do before. It’s a full on belly laugh, one set of arms clutching at her stomach while the others lean against the counter.

“Oh dear, you are very charming, but you’re a bit too young for me,” she says, winking at him with exactly one eye. “Although, I did enjoy the vigorous flirting last night. You sure know how to make a lady feel special.”

Crim hides his face in his hands and groans. “Stars, did I hit on _everyone_?”

“Pretty much, dear.”

With all the dramatic flair of a newborn puppy, Crim flattens himself on the counter over his jacket, his arms hanging limply over the edge next to Muffet. “That’s it,” he complains weakly into the way-too-familiar scent of Muffet’s detergent. “I can’t show my face ever again. It’s over.”

“Oh, hush now,” Muffet says, nudging him until he reluctantly sits back up. “It’s not as bad as all that. Pap saved you before you got too embarrassing.”

“He did? Saved me how?” The undertone of suspicion in his voice is apparently a little too telling, as Muffet rolls her eyes at him.

“He took you home, of course,” Muffet says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Carried you off the stage and out the door when you started asking for ‘favors’ in the microphone.” She puts a hand over her mouth and giggles again, eyes looking towards the ceiling like she’s recalling the memory.

Crim, feeling his face heat up, decides to pretend that he doesn’t hear the latter half of that comment, instead focusing on the part about Slick. “ _He’s_ the one that brought me home?”

“Of course,” Muffet repeats, tilting her head slightly. “You really can’t remember anything, can you?”

“After that third song it’s all dark,” he admits, attempting a laugh to pretend it’s not actually as bad as it is. It’s pretty fucking bad. “Note to self: alcohol and a nasty heat is a dangerous mix.”

“Oh, don’t I know about that,” Muffet demurely muses as her eyes trace the number of plaques lining the wall. “But unlike you, _I_ didn’t have a knight in shining armor that stopped me from being stupid.” She grins at him.

“ _Really?_ ” Crim asks slowly, surprised. “You did that too?” Muffet just keeps smiling at him, her eyes looking away as she shrugs. “Muffet, you dirty girl.”

* * *

The air is heavy with the scent of wood when Crim comes through the front door. He lets out an incomprehensible grunt as a greeting, and in return he gets a lazy wave from the couch. Crim catches a glimpse of a small knife in Slick’s hand before it’s pulled back down again. 

After hanging his now freshly washed jacket on the coat rack, he moves to the couch. He finds it - and a large portion of the floor around it - covered in tiny wood chips and shavings, the layer of them growing thicker the closer to Slick they are. In his hands, Slick is holding a half-finished carved wood figure of… something. The trash can placed strategically under his hands has apparently not done its job at all, seeing as it’s cleaner than the floor surrounding it. On the table in front of Slick is a leather sleeve with various [ small knives ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/60/fe/cb/60fecb1d895373223aa13bc0f34dd18d--homemade-tools-diy-tools.jpg) in different sizes and lengths. Some of them barely even resemble knifes, but have a more cone-like shape to them.

“Hey?” Slick greets Crim as he hovers curiously over the project in the guy’s hands. Slick only glances at him long enough to give him a short smile before returning to running the knife in a series of precise movements down the side of the lump of wood. A thumb brushes off the excess wood before he does the same thing in a slightly different pattern. His indifferent air to Crim’s scrutiny and his methodical approach to carving both back up the evidence Crim already has suggesting that Slick’s had this hobby for a long time.

“‘Sup. What’re you doing?”

“Carving.”

“Very funny, Captain Obvious,” Crim says. He continues working, but Crim can see his smile growing.

“You know Blue is gonna kill you when he comes home, right?” Slick freezes for a second, a truly spooked look crossing his face that Crim finds hilarious. He glances at Crim again with an obviously exaggerated face of terror.

“You’ll protect me, right?”

“Hell no man,” Crim chuckles. “I ain’t getting anywhere near Blue when he’s going full on OCD nuclear. You’re on your own.”

“Damn,” Slick says, picking up one of the larger wood shavings on his leg and rolling it between his fingers. “I might need to fake my own death.”

“Now _that_ I can help you with.” They share an amused grin before Slick goes back to carving and Crim dumps himself on the couch, not bothering to wipe the wood chips off first. He’ll be covered in no time anyway if Slick continues his work.

“So,” Slick says a minute or so after Crim settles into his favorite reclining position - a full body slouch that partially includes the armrest. “How’d it go with Muffet?”

Honestly, it shouldn’t surprise him that Slick didn’t believe a word he said after getting that text. It shouldn’t even surprise him that Slick knew exactly who it was and where Crim went after he’d left. Those two seem to have some kind of telekinetic bond; it’s the only way Crim can explain how they both seem to know so much about what the hell is going on all the time.

“A lot better than I expected, actually,” Crim answers honestly.

“She didn’t bite you?” Slick says as he grins down at his work.

“Nah,” Crim says as he idly flicks a sliver of wood off his pants. “Didn’t even sick her pet on my ass. Just messed with my head a bit.”

“Aw man, I was looking forward to watching you sprint down the street.”

“Jerk,” Crim says, giving him a light slap on the back of his head. Slick just chuckles.

They fall into a comfortable silence. The muted scraping noise of Slick’s knife cutting into the wood of his figure lulls Crim into a comfortable, drowsy mood. It’s a stark contrast to how he felt just an hour ago, and he almost wants to sink into the couch and take a nap. His thoughts prevent him from completely dosing off though. They circle around his conversation with Muffet.

“She said you took me home,” he says out of the blue as he remembers that part of the conversation. The knife in Slick’s hand pauses just long enough for him to glance at Crim before quickly looking back at his figure.

“Uh, yeah. I did,” he confirms.

“Thank you,” he says with some force, and he means it. If Slick hadn’t intervened, he’d definitely be in far worse straights right now.

Slick shrugs, all of his concentration seemingly on his carving. “You were drunk and your heat was getting worse. I figured I better take you ho-” he almost fumbles the carving knife in his haste to correct himself, “-take you _back_ so you could uh, you know, take care of business.”

“Oh Stars,” Crim curses. He covers his face with his hands and tries not to imagine how he was acting yesterday. It’s yet another exercise in futility - the reminders of his shitty flirting along with what Muffet had told him rise to the forefront of his mind. “I’m so fucking sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s fine,” Slick says, repeating his words from this morning. “It was kinda fun. Hilarious, really. Never knew you liked me so much.” Slick winks at him when Crim peeks out between his fingers, probably tomato red.

“We didn’t… you know?” Crim asks slowly.

When the guy doesn’t immediately answer, Crim’s nerves spike. Slick isn’t saying anything - _he’s not saying anything_ \- and Crim feels hysteria fast approaching as he tries to keep the almost-connected pieces of information from trying to come together in his head. The comfortable silence between the two of them evaporates, replaced with a chokingly awkward one that Slick doesn’t seem to notice at all.

“Huh? Oh, nah,” Slick then _finally_ answers, after making a little wave of celebration with his knife because he’d cut out the tiniest piece of wood off of the thing he’s working on. “Not for the lack of trying on your part tho’,” he continues, sending Crim a shiteating grin that both reassures him and also ticks him off a little. “You stole my hoodie when I told you no. You get aggressive when you’re horny, pal. Like whew. I’m lucky I only lost my hoodie. Which, speaking of, I want you to burn,” he says as he turns back to the lump of the now vaguely humanoid-shaped wood in his lap. “I don’t want to know what you did to it.” It’s all said with this teasing tone and Crim isn’t sure if he want to punch him in the face more than he wants to let the floor swallow him whole just so he can get away from this situation. It only gets worse as realization burns its terrible way into his head.

Slick’s hoodie. The hoodie in the corner of his room this morning - it explained Muffet’s scent. Slick had showered at Muffet’s yesterday, and that meant- it meant that the floor swallowing him whole would be the better option by far.

“Just kill me now,” Crim whines, leaning his head back and going limp on the couch. He stares into the ceiling, wishing he could erase the memories of yesterday in everyone’s mind, including his own.

“Aw, come on Crim,” Slick says, leaning over a bit to reassuringly pat the side of his foot. “We’ve all done something stupid like that.”

“Yeah, when we were _teenagers_!” Crim complains, hanging halfway off the armrest. “I’m an adult! I’m not supposed to lose my damn mind when I’m in heat.”

Slick shrugs. “Heats are a pain, especially for us,” he says, telling Crim something he already knows. Being a skeleton monster _sucks_ when it comes to heats. “I’m guessing it’s been a while?”

“Fuck man, you have no freaking idea,” Crim says, jumping on the change in subject. “I had this semi-regular thing going with this dude, but it blew up in my face. _Again._ ”

“Who was it?” Slick asks, sounding genuinely interested despite the continued scraping of his knife into the wood. “Anyone I know?”

“Hell if I know,” Crim grumbles, dragging himself back onto the couch proper. “I can’t figure out who’s who in this universe. Everything is upside down.”

The carving stops, and Slick furrows his brow in Crim’s direction. “How so?”

“Shit, where do I start? Well, uh,” Crim says, trying to quantify the most prominent of the weird changes in Snowdin alone, “Muffet runs the Café in town. Back home, that’s Grillby. And the Rabbit family are Guards here, but that’s the Dogs in my world. Just... a lot of shit that’s opposite.”

“So you don’t know if I know the guy because you don’t know where he is in this world,” Slick sums up.

“Pretty much,” Crim confirms, picking up a tightly curled wood shaving that had fluttered onto his knee and trying to unroll it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Well I know a way to fix that.” Crim glances at him, lifting a brow.

“That so?”

“Yep,” Slick says, shooting him a smile. “Just tell me who it is and I can tell you if I know him.”

“And why exactly are you so interested in who I fucked?”

“Blackmail material, obviously,” Slick answers, dead serious, their vision locking on each other. The mask cracks moments later when Slick’s smile starts twitching upwards and they both start laughing.

Crim finally sighs in satisfaction. He could always trust Slick to turn a shitty situation into a hilarious one. “Fuck you man,” he says in good humor. Slick nudges Crim’s foot with an elbow, giving him a suggestive brow wiggle and Crim feels himself give in with another couple of chuckles. “ _Fine_ , I’ll tell you if you stop looking at me like that.” He pauses, almost reconsidering, but Slick looks so damn _excited_ and he just can’t disappoint the guy. “It’s Grillby.”

“ _Really?_ ” Slick gasps, and Crim can’t even tell if he’s being overly dramatic or he’s actually shocked.

“Yeah. Guy’s fucking _hot_ in my world.” It takes all of a second before Slick sputters and then starts laughing again, clutching both wood and knife to his chest. Not only is the sound more obnoxious this time around, but it’s also contagious enough to make Crim snort and join in a few moments later.

“H-how-,” Slick pauses before he clears his throat to try again. “How does that even work? How come you didn’t get burned?”

“Hey pal, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“But…” Slick holds his hands out in front of him, staring at them with an expression of pure, hilarious confusion.

Crim gives him a sly smile. “He ain’t flames all over.”

Crim’s phone dings, announcing the end of that line of questioning with a text message. Chuckling as he turns away from Slick’s dumbfounded look, he pulls out his phone to check, betting it’s probably someone trying to pencil in a repair job. To his surprise, it’s actually Blue.

“Huh,” Crim hums to himself as he thumbs the screen, closing out the texting app and then reloading it to see if he missed anything.

He glances up from his scrolling momentarily when Slick throws a wordless question in his direction.

 

 

“Eh, just your bro,” Crim says, turning back to the most recent message suspiciously, which is oddly pleasant next to the previous ones. “He wants me to tell you he won’t be home before six, so dinner will be late. Somethin’ with Alphys.”

“Oh,” is the disinterested, almost emotionless reply as Slick goes back to his project. “Well okay then.”

 _That_ makes Crim look up. “Why is he texting me and not you? You piss him off?”

“My phone broke,” Slick says flatly, like it’s the most damning thing in the world. However, that’s certainly news to Crim. He literally saw Slick texting yesterday. When did that happen? Last night?

“What?” he says, stuffing his own phone back into his pants pocket. “What’d you do to it?”

“Uh, I didn’t do anything to it,” Slick says, his shoulders slightly hunched in a defensive arch. He doesn’t look up from his carving.

“Bullshit, you had to do something,” Crim prompts anyway. “Did you drop it? Maybe I can fix it?”

Slick sighs long and loud, like he’s giving up. “Nah, Sans already tried - took it apart and let it dry overnight but no luck. And as said, I didn’t do anything. It just took in too much water when you pushed me in the Dump yesterday.”

Crim’s face morphs into an expression of instant regret as Slick finishes. “Ah shit, really?”

“It’s cool,” Slick says, shooting him a lopsided smile before resuming his carving. “It was old anyways. But it’s gonna take a while to save up for a new one, so I guess I have to get messages through you for a while.”

“No man, fuck that,” Crim says, making a snap decision. “I fucked up the phone, it’s only right if I buy you a new one.”

“No no, you don’t have to,” Slick immediately protests, waving the hand without the knife in it at him. “It’s fine, really. It was an accident.”

“I fuckin’ pushed you into the water on purpose,” Crim says with finality. “You deserved it for bein’ a dick, but I didn’t mean to fuck up your phone too.”

“But-”

“It’s not a big deal,” Crim interrupts, “so just shut up and let me buy you a phone, okay?”

He’s silent for a long moment before sighing in defeat a second time. “Okay.”

Crim brushes off the stray bits of wood from his pants and off his ass. “Cool. Come on.”

“What, now?” Slick says, eyeing the thing he was working on, and then the wood chips everywhere. “It doesn’t have to be now, I can wait.”

Crim laughs, and the sound is more than a little derisive. “Oh yeah it does. Every second you don’t have a phone is a second longer where I have to deal with your bro. So let’s get going.”


	13. Two-Way Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're a pinch late, oops. It's been a long day for us but we have the new chapter now! It's a huge one! Thanks for being patient. Now, with that being said...
> 
> ## TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> We're dealing with some pretty heavy topics this chapter, and so we have some trigger warnings up here so people stay safe: _Depressive Breakdowns, Talk about falling into depression and near-death experiences._ **The tags come into effect after the first timeskippy linebreak.** If anyone needs a breakdown of what happens during the latter part of the chapter, let us know and we'll give you a summary.
> 
> We hope you like the chapter :)
> 
> Come scream at us on tumblr!  
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~

## ~ Chapter Thirteen ~  
**Two-Way Road**

_“Please, I know it’s hard to believe,_  
_And see a perfect forest through so  
Many splintered trees._ ”

[ _“Haunted”_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3lBF2h-Pl0) by Poe

* * *

 

Crim leaves his jacket at home for this one - he knew from the outset he wasn’t going to need it where they were gonna be shortly. Slick, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care, doling out a shrug and keeping his hoodie in place despite Crim’s advice.

After a short teleport and a much longer, frankly unpleasant walk through the sweltering heat of the cavern, he gives Slick free reign over picking the phone once they get to the Hotland Labs’ small electronics store. While not specializing in phones specifically, they do have a number of newer and refurbished devices; Crim had learned about the place when he was looking for alternate locations to get parts or tools for his maintenance gigs. This place tended to be a last resort if he couldn’t find something elsewhere due to the pricing, but it always had quality stuff.

Though at first he seems fairly collected as he talks to the bubbly, purple-furred feline clerk - Crim thinks her name is Kitty? - about nonsense things, it quickly becomes painfully apparent to Crim that he’s dragging his feet. As he keeps talking, the topic strays from anything remotely close to what they came for, and Crim can feel his frustration building with every minute that ticks by. Despite Slick’s casual leaning against the counter while chatting up the enthusiastic cat lady, Crim can see his eyelights touch on each and every pricetag lined up on the wall behind her with no regard at all for the phones themselves. When he starts discussing the nonexistent weather as yet another stalling topic, Crim’s dwindling patience for the guy’s bullshit finally snaps.

“Would you just fucking pick a phone you want?” he blurts out, causing the other two to shut up mid sentence and stare at him in surprise. Of the two, though, Slick looks the most put off.

“Chill, I’m just-”

“Let me worry about the price, alright?” he interrupts, cutting through Slick’s flimsy excuse.

Slick sighs, dropping the pretense instantly. He rubs his neck as he looks at the tags without any of his previous subtly. “Are you sure? I mean, my old one wasn’t worth that much.”

“It. Doesn’t. _Matter_ ,” Crim says, infusing each word with exasperation. “Just pick one.”

“Crim, come on, you don’t have to-” he tries again, but Crim cuts him off again, knowing exactly what he’s going to say.

“Stars, you can be so frikkin’ _annoyin’_ sometimes.” Crim groans and drags a hand over his face and looks up at the ceiling of the little shop. “Listen, the money ain’t a big deal ok? People keep fuckin’ overpayin’ me and now I got more than I know what to do with. So just _pick the phone you want_ and let me buy the damn thing for ya.”

“Like, we do have couples’ discounts,” Kitty mentions helpfully in the silence that follows, but immediately backtracks as Crim turns bright red and pins her with a glare. “Iiiiiiiin case you, uh, know, like, any super cute friends who might be interested!” she finishes quickly.

“Nice save,” he hears Slick murmur, and she flashes him a bright smile that makes Crim’s right eyesocket twitch.

“It’s, like, part of the uh, customer loyalty initiative,” she says, giving Slick a wink.

Crim groans loudly.

“Oh, I know! Let me show you the newest models,” Kitty offers quickly. She ducks below the counter and unlocks the glass cabinet. Her paws are only there for a second, snatching up a few phones from their displays and then she’s laying them out next to the cash register. Leaning an elbow on the counter, she starts listing all the specifications for the phones, pointing to each of them as she talks. Slick hangs onto her every word and happily tries out the cameras in the phones when offered, Kitty posing with a girlish giggle every time he takes a picture.

After almost eight minutes of impatient foot tapping, Slick finally steps back from the counter, running a hand over his skull and letting out a long sigh.

“I just don’t know,” he says. “It’s a bit… overwhelming.”

“Well, like, if the price isn’t huge deal,” Kitty says, her eyes turning to Crim while pausing, as if to see if he’s going to interject. When Crim stays silent, she continues. “I would just take the latest model. That way you’re sure to get, like, all the newest cool tech the Labs have to offer.”

“If you want it, take it,” Crim says when Slick glances at him.

With a nod, Slick points at a phone. “That one.” Crim leans his head back, eyes looking towards the ceiling as he breathes a quiet sigh of relief. _Finally._

“Okay, I just need you to sign here and here,” Kitty says after pulling out a few papers. Crim has no idea what they are and leaning closer to get a look at them doesn’t tell him anything. When Slick signs them without blinking, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Crim decides not to bother figuring it out.

Kitty scribbles something on each paper before she rips one of them off and hands it to Slick. The other ends up in a file that disappears underneath the counter just as fast as it appeared. She packs the phone into a box with all its accessories and puts it in a small plastic bag. She leaves it on the counter while fiddling with the register. With a ding, the price appears on the small display, and Crim sees Slick’s sockets widen.

Clearly sensing Slick’s discomfort too, Kitty tilts her head. “I can still totally give you that discount if it’ll make you feel better,” she offers.

“Not necessary,” Crim answers quickly. He finds five of the small coin pouches in his pants pocket, already counted and prepared for situations like this, and throws them on the counter. While Kitty opens one pouch and counts the coins, Crim picks up the bag and hands it to Slick.

“All of them have the same amount,” Crim tells her. He doesn’t bother waiting for her to count them all, but instead just turns to usher Slick outside.

“Wait, don’t you want your change?” she says, her eyes huge. “There’s, like, waaaay too much here.”

“Consider it your tip,” Crim just throws over his shoulder, practically pushing Slick out the door. Crim hears footsteps behind them seconds later and he groans.

“I told ya-” He cuts himself off when he sees Kitty take Slick’s hand in both paws to stop him, and when they come away, there’s a folded piece of paper between his fingers. “In case you, you know, wanna hang sometime.” She lets go with a smile and waves a few fingers in goodbye before returning to the counter. Slick returns her wave with one of his own as they leave.

They’re barely past the doors when Slick flicks the paper open. He doesn’t seem surprised at finding a phone number written on it. After staring at it for a moment, Slick crumples the paper into a small ball and drops it in the next trash can they pass.

“You ain’t gonna hit her up?” Crim questions with a hint of surprise. Slick just shrugs. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothin’,” Crim replies, watching Slick casually stuff his hands into his pants’ pockets. “You just seemed awfully interested in her just five minutes ago.”

“Nah,” Slick says. “She’s not my type.”

“So you’re saying hot and desperate ain’t your type?” Another unhelpful shrug. “What is then?”

Slick just sends him an obnoxious sidewards grin that reveals nothing. “Trade secret,” he says, making Crim roll his eyelights.

“But hey, thanks,” he adds moments later.

Crim simply shrugs. “For what? Fixing my fuck up? Yeah, you’re welcome.”

“I’m still grateful.”

“Yeah well,” Crim says with a grumbling sigh, “how about you pay me back by turning that thing on and telling your bro to stop texting me, huh?”

With a wry smile, Slick obligingly unpacks the phone as they walk and fiddles with it. As he does, he shoots Crim a questioning look. “You two have kinda been going at it recently. Anything up?”

Crim snorts, recalling the outburst a few days ago that had proceeded Blue’s new round of weird, passive hostility. “Other than the kid keepin’ his pants pulled up too tight? Nah.”

Slick doesn’t follow up with another question, instead going quiet as he messes with the touch screen. As the seconds stretch into minutes, it becomes apparent that Slick’s side of the conversation is destined to be a cadence of almost inaudible little beeps from the phone. That’s perfectly fine by him, and Crim zones out as they walk, listening to the prevalent sounds of the hissing and sputtering from the lava fields of the cavern, such a distinct change from Snowdin’s comparative dead silence. Slick’s pace speeds up as they walk, and while he’s a bit harder to keep up with due to his longer stride, it’s still preferable - the faster he’s out of Hotland’s hellish heat the better.

They pass a few monsters - mostly reptilian and elemental species - on their way out of the central Labs and along the intersecting pathways, tracing the gritty footpath they came in on back towards the entrance to Waterfall. Hotland, he’d found, was too heavily trafficked in this universe to risk teleporting directly to a single part of the bright, open-pathed cavern with any degree of subtlety, especially with two people. So, sadly, he has to suffer the tortuous twenty minute walk while using the carrot of how great it was going to feel to be back in the house to motivate him.

_Fuck Blue - I’m gonna ‘port straight to that couch the second we’re outta sight._

An entrance billowing lukewarm steam finally greets them on the path ahead, and Crim passes through the breath of moisture with a sigh of short-lived relief as the new, stifling atmosphere hits him. He keeps forgetting that this part of Waterfall isn’t much better than Hotland - the mugginess and the heat combine to coat every part of him in dampness that refuses to dissipate - but at least he doesn’t feel like he’s being cooked alive in his t-shirt. Still, the faster they leave, the better, in his opinion.

Slick finally slows, using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the excess moisture off of the screen before continuing to fidget with it. Despite the slower pace, it’s still not long before they pass a corner where an arrow protruding from the wooden pole staked in the ground welcoming them back to Waterfall. Crim’s relief returns, as the sign marks the final leg of their trip.

 _“There you are!”_ comes a shrill voice from somewhere behind them. “ _Hey_! You… wretched... delinquent! Don’t you... run away... from me!”

Crim, out of habit, turns to look and doesn’t see anyone. The path they’d taken through the cave is still just as empty as it had been a minute ago. Slick, meanwhile, just keeps walking as if he hadn’t heard fuck all.

“Uh, who said that?” He isn’t getting heatstroke and hallucinating a squeakier version of Blue’s worst lecturing tone, is he? Fuck, he didn’t think the kid had gotten that far under his skin yet.

“Down... here you _imbecile_!” comes a small, angry voice from below.

His sanity is thankfully affirmed when he looks down. Next to one of his boots, he spots a hunched over and panting rat monster with brown fur and patches of silver on their muzzle. Reaching no higher than Crim’s shin despite standing on their hind legs, the monster sports a white shirt under a bright yellow vest and dark blue shorts.

The rat crawls up to stand on the stone ledge next to Crim, enabling them to point a hilariously small, accusing finger in his face. The little monster is still covered in condensation from the veil of steam between the caverns, miniscule beads of water visible in their whiskers and hide. “I have a bone to pick with you!” they squeak.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” Crim says, smiling besides himself. That one never got old, and the fact that it’s now coming from the foot-high, angry rodent makes it even better.

“NO, IT’S NOT!” comes the livid, high-pitched squeal.

“Heh, right. And who’re you again?”

“Why would you care?! It’s not like you have any respect for other people!” The rat wipes a paw along their dewy muzzle and shakes it purposefully in Crim’s direction, hitting him in the eye. He dries it off slowly, his amusement over the sheer absurdity of the situation quickly wearing off.

“I like knowin’ the name of people who assault me.”

“I’m not assaulting you!” Crim gestures in the small space between them and the way the other is trying to get in his face by aggressively leaning out over the rock they climbed.

“Then what do ya call this then, brainiac?”

“A standoff between arch nemeses!”

“Ooookay, whatever you say Old Man Jenkins.”

“That’s Finkto  _you_ , owner and proprietor of Fink’s Underground Repair, or FUR. I’ll have you know that I’m an extremely accomplished businessman!”

Crim snorts loudly. “Your name is Fink?” he says in disbelief. “You’re Rat Fink?”

The rat actually looks like both of his eyes are going to pop out of his head. “Fink Senior, in fact, and I’m a rodent monster!” he squeaks indignantly. “Not a rat!”

“You sure as hell look like a rat to me, buddy.” He gets a chuckle out of the furious gesticulating that ensues. It kind of reminds him of Blue. A very small, very furry Blue that he has no obligation whatsoever to pander to.

“I’m not your ‘buddy’, you cretin! And that derogatory specist talk is exactly why people like you shouldn’t be in any kind of civilized work! You give the rest of us a terrible reputation! You aren’t even part of the Union.”

Crim decides to humor the guy for a bit, since one glance at Slick is enough to tell him that the guy is still completely distracted and still slowly walking through the tunnel. “A Union you say?”

“Yes!” the rat quickly jumps on the opportunity, almost falling off his perch in his eagerness. “‘The Metallists’-” Crim snorts loudly, interrupting him.

“A mentalist pun?” he comments. “Really? You know that means insane too, right?”

“Are you deaf as well as thick? It’s ‘ _Metallists’_ , and _WE_ are members of a proud labor union formed to protect the jobs of the Underground’s mechanics!” the rat continues, glaring at Crim. “That means we can’t just impose on each others’ territories and steal each others’ work! We have _rules_ , you uncivilized swine.”

“Uh huh,” Crim hums, unimpressed. “And how many’re in this “union”?”

The rat puffs his chest out proudly. “We have three highly lauded members so far!” he says. “My eldest sons are taking after their papa, and I happen to be the creator and head of the organization. Good luck getting accepted.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest and he shakes his head. He glances in the direction Slick had gone in, but the guy has already disappeared around the corner. He really fucking hopes that idiot is waiting for him on the other side - he _really_ doesn’t want to spend the next hour of his life searching for him in the heat and damp. Ending this amusing but ultimately pointless argument before he wanders off is probably best.

Crim turns back to the rat. “Listen pal, I’m not interested in your shitty union. Now fuck off.”

The rat bristles, his visible fur standing on end. “You can’t just _steal_ our work. I’ll report you to the authorities!”

Alright, _that_ could be trouble. “Oh yeah? Well, if you value that shitty little life of yours, you’ll walk away right now,” Crim says, flashing his teeth in a wicked smile. In his universe, that usually that got monsters of Fink’s size to scamper away on command, never to return.

To Crim’s surprise, it only causes the rat to gasp indignantly despite being a mere two feet from his face. “Was that a _threat_ ?” Fink says, putting his paws on his hips. “You brute! I’m not afraid of you - I know my rights! You’re just some… some _dilettante_ , pretending at understanding the inner particulars of mechanics to muscle in on someone else’s field of expertise! You’re just here to give me and my species a bad name, and I won’t stand for it!”

“Yanno, maybe if you weren’t such a pretentious fuckin’ scammer, people wouldn’t be so happy that I showed up instead.”

“I’m not a scammer!” the little monster squeaks angrily. “How dare you insult me and tarnish my reputation!”

“Your rep? _What_ rep?” Crim laughs mockingly. “You charge an arm and a leg and you ain’t even fixin’ the damn things! You’re just makin’ them run so you can cash in on ‘em more than once. I ain’t tarnishin’ anything; you’re doing that just fine on your own, you greedy bastard.”

“I’m not doing anything less than I advertise for!” Fink fires back defensively. “I studied for _four years_ in order to perform this service for people! My species only lives for _ten_ ,” the rat holds out both paws condescendingly towards Crim’s face, “and degenerates like you simply walk over our efforts! I have to make a living for my mate and two dozen children!”

Crim crosses his arms over his chest, unimpressed. “That ain’t no excuse to hustle people out of their hard-earned cash. Where’d ya get your fuckin’ standards, the Dump?”

“You’re one to lecture _me_ about standards!” Fink hisses up at Crim. “I have a whole family to feed, and you aren’t even mated! How could some small-time grifter like you possibly even understand what that’s like?”

Crim’s patience snaps, along with his temper. “Ya know what, asshole? Maybe you should’a considered that before fuckin’ whatever poor soul ya roped into being your baby factory.”

“How _dare_ you!” screeches the rat, but Crim is already turning his back on him and flipping Fink a two finger salute in the process.

That’s when a pea-sized rock pings against the side of his head with surprising force, ripping away a single HP from his miniscule total. He flinches as the little stone comes away trailing yellow magic. When he turns to glare in the direction it had been thrown from, he sees Fink, all bristled fur on his ledge, holding another readied rock coated in a haze of yellow.

“Are you fucking serious?” Crim chuckles as his magic ignites, painting his vision red. “You really shouldn’t have done that.” That vicious grin of his returns, and compounded with the way his magic illuminates his face as well as the rat’s ledge, Fink for the first time looks a bit uncertain.

“You wouldn’t,” Fink squeaks, shrinking back a bit before that predatory gaze. “The law says-”

Before Fink can scamper away, he snatches up the noisy monster in one hand. There’s a startled “Eep!” followed by a terrified silence as Crim leers down at the hapless rat. He relishes the fear of the formerly cocky little shit for a handful of seconds before he speaks again.

“You started this shit,” Crim says slowly, drawing out his words a menacing rumble. He holds his other palm up, and a long, thin spike of bone the width of a finger and the length his forearm materializes out of the air, the pointed tip flickering into existence a bare inch from one of Fink’s eyes. “So rat, you better fuckin’ pray my aim is better than yours.”

Besides the constant twitch of his nose, Fink is a tense statue of fear in Crim’s tight grip, his eyes fixated on the lethal attack. He shrieks when it moves closer, missing his eye entirely to plunge straight through both his shirt and vest in one precise movement.

Crim sets his sights on a target a dozen or so feet away - the sign he and Slick had passed on the way in pointing the way to Waterfall. He tosses the bone like a javelin with his magic, sending both it and Fink screaming through the air until it thunks satisfyingly into the wood. He’s pleased to note a puddle of moisture that had condensed at the base of the sign.

Strung up against the signpost by the back of his vest and dangling about four feet off the ground, Fink wriggles helplessly in the air. Crim chuckles to himself and starts walking deeper into Waterfall, finally rid of the most recent of his problems.

“You- you won’t g-” comes the shrieking of the rat behind him, interrupted by a splash as the bone spike pinning Fink dissipates. There’s a series of sputtering coughs. “Augh! I’ve never- I’ll report you and you’ll be finished, you hear me!?” Fink yells from further away, seemingly gaining confidence through the measure of distance between them. “FINISHED!!! You’ll never work in the Underground again!!!”

When Crim glances back, his magic still lighting up his vision, Fink is already on the other side of the steam veil. He snorts, dismissing the rat’s credibility. There’s no way anyone is going to listen to that loudmouth, especially not Alphys. He loosens his grip on his magic, and it falls away easily.

When he turns the corner, he finds Slick patiently smoking at the base of a large echo tree, eyelights still glued to his phone. The soft pulsations of blue light from the tree outlines his form perfectly.

As Crim approaches, he glances up. “Oh hey,” he says without inflection. It’s hard to tell from the lighting in the cavern, but Crim thinks he looks tired. “Thought you’d be out of the sauna a little sooner.”

“Eh,” Crim shrugs, “ran into an annoyin’ furry fuck. Whatever, let’s go. Can’t wait to get out of this shitty ass heat.”

He waves a hand, and Slick follows him wordlessly until they both end up around a secluded corner. He offers the guy his hand, and one tug on his magic later, they both reappear back in the living room of the house.

“Thank fuck,” Crim groans happily as his back hits the deliciously cool couch, not even caring when the various woodchips poke at him through his clothes. After a moment he turns his cheek into the cushions to look up at the other. Slick is still standing in the middle of the living room. “Hey Slick, you gonna shotgun the shower?”

Slick finally slips the phone into his hoodie pocket with a sigh. “Nah, I think I’m just gonna… go pass out.”

Crim lifts a browbone at him. It had been awhile since Slick had last passed out this early in the afternoon. Not to mention, he suddenly doesn’t seem so concerned about Blue’s reaction to the mess he’d left around the couch; he’d been giving a little more of a damn about that lately.

“This early?” he asks. “It’s still, uh...” He lazily reaches an arm over his head for the jacket draped over the armrest he’s conveniently lying next to. He plops it on his chest and digs his phone out of an inside pocket. The numbers that greet him when his screen lights up surprise him. It’s still early for Slick, but he hadn’t expected three hours to pass just like that. “Huh. Guess it’s already three. Damn, time flies when you’re fucking around in that heat.”

“Heh, yeah, it really took it out of me,” Slick says with a shrug and tosses Crim a weak smile. “Thanks again, Crim.”

“Forget about it, man,” he says with the umpteenth roll of his eyelights that day. “See ya tomorrow.”

Crim receives a little parting wave as Slick ambles up the stairs and disappears out of his field of view. 

* * *

A series of hurried knocks on his door startles Crim out of his light slumber. A quick glance at his phone tells him it’s close to 2 AM. As he’s frowning at his phone, wondering who would show up at his door at this time of night, another couple of knocks sound. Glancing towards the door, he almost decides to pretend he’s still sleeping. If it’s another damn heater emergency, he swears...

He gets on his feet quietly and tiptoes to the door. He knows that there’s no reason to be careful in this universe, but old habits die hard. A flash of apprehension rolls through him when he reaches the door, causing him to stare at it. As he does, there’s a third series of knocks. Leaning closer, he doesn’t hear anything from the other side.

“Who is it?” he asks.

“It’s me.” Crim breathes a quick sigh of relief when he hears Slick’s familiar voice, but it’s short-lived. “Can I come in?” Crim wrinkles his brow, stepping back. Something’s wrong.

He unlocks the door quickly and pulls it open, regretting for a second not grabbing his sweater when the cold air blows into his room. Along with it drifts the smell of fresh smoke.

Slick stands in the little mound of snow that’s been pushed up against the door after Crim turned in for the night. It reaches halfway up Slick’s shins, but he seems unaffected by the biting cold he must feel. A flurry kicks up around him and the wind rips at his clothes.

“Why the hell are you up this late?” Crim asks him.

“I’m- I just…” Slick presses a palm against his forehead as he looks over his shoulder. His breathing is rapid and shallow and Crim fears he might topple over any second. His voice shakes when he looks back in Crim’s direction and speaks again. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Damn it, Slick. This is fuckin’ stupid, even for you,” Crim tells him. He opens the door wider and nods towards his bed. “Get in.”

His friend takes his invitation immediately and Crim shuts the door once he’s past it. He’s already cold despite the short amount of time he spent in the air, so it’s no wonder that Slick is shaking and his teeth are clattering. How long was he standing out there?

Slick stands in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around himself and he just looks into the air. Crim pinches the bridge of his nose, silently cursing himself. Why does he keep putting himself in these situations?

“Come on,” he prompts Slick, “we gotta get you warmed up.” He walks to his dresser. After searching for half a minute, he pulls out a t-shirt that’s a few sizes too big for himself, but will probably fit Slick okay. Crim throws it at him. “Get out of that wet shit.” He gestures to the hoodie Slick’s currently wearing that’s getting increasingly soaked by the melting snow on it. His pants are no better, but Crim doesn’t own any that’ll fit him.

“Sit tight,” Crim tells him. “I’ll be right back.”

He teleports to Slick’s room and is instantly assaulted by the stench of thick cigarette smoke and stale air. There’s a heavy, humid feel to it, making Crim believe that Slick hasn’t aired the room out in weeks. The sheets on the bed are rumpled and dirty and there’s an ashtray on the bed table. It’s overflowing with cigarette butts to the point where they have started to spill out over the edge. They lie scattered all over the table, ash painting it shades of grey. Three pillows lie forgotten on the floor, one of them near the desk covered by what Crim now recognizes as old blueprints several feet away. It looks like it was thrown. The entire floor around it is almost invisible under the layer of scattered papers, books and clothes.

“Fucking hell, Slick,” Crim mutters, looking around in disbelief. Why Blue hasn’t had a seizure and gone OCD on this place, Crim has no idea. Maybe Blue doesn’t know how bad it is.

The item he came for is found in a pile of clean laundry thrown haphazardly next to the basket containing some of the dirty. Honestly, Crim has no idea if the track pants are clean or not, since it’s almost impossible to tell the two apart. A quick whiff leaves him with a hint of Blue’s favored detergent and Crim decides it must be clean enough.

When he returns to his room, pants in hand, Slick is standing exactly where Crim left him, holding a dripping wet hoodie. However, now he’s clothed in a t-shirt that’s obviously too short for him, a couple inches of spine peeking out from below the hemming. He still looks like he’s about to pass out, his eyes wide and unseeing. He doesn’t even notice Crim until he steps in front of him and calls his name.

“Hey, Slick. Have you gone full on catatonic on me?” Slick blinks slowly and lowers his head, but Crim has no idea if he’s actually looking at him. Slick’s sockets are black and empty. There’s not even a hint of magic in them, and that worries Crim. His eyelights were almost fully visible just this morning, but now... it’s like they’re back when they first met. Slick looks like a ghost and his aura is back to being heavy and suffocating again. Crim almost chokes on it.

“Snap out of it pal,” Crim tells him, snapping his fingers in front of his face. He holds the pants out to him when Slick makes a small sound. “Put these on.”

He takes the pants from Crim and does as told. Every move he makes is slow and mechanical, like he’s running on autopilot. As he steps out of his wet pants, Crim looks away to give him some sense of privacy, worry churning in his soul. After a few seconds filled with rustling fabric, a subdued “I’m sorry” comes from behind, and Crim rolls his eyes as he looks back at him.

“Just get under the blankets, Slick,” he says. “Before you catch something nasty and I gotta listen to Blue bitchin’ at me for gettin’ ya sick.” He herds Slick to his bed and wraps the guy in his blankets to keep him warm until he resembles a burrito. Crim grabs his spare from the chest at the end of his bed before he sits down next to Slick’s hunched-over form. The spare blanket is made of thick, knitted wool thread, and despite being the warmest of the ones he has, it itches like crazy. He tries to ignore how it pricks everywhere the blanket touches his bare bones and instead turns his attention to Slick, who’s still staring into empty air.

“So, are you gonna tell me what’s up?” he prompts. “Or are we just gonna sit here in awkward silence until we both pass out?”

Slick lifts his gaze a fraction and draws in a rattling breath. For a moment, Crim actually thinks he’s not going to respond, and he briefly considers getting Blue so he can deal with his fucked up brother instead.

“I messed up,” Slick whispers darkly before Crim can finish that thought.

“Okay…” When his drawn out response doesn’t make Slick continue, Crim sighs in annoyance. “Just fucking tell me what you did, Slick. That brooding silence might work on the chicks,” he says, trying to lighten the mood a bit, “but it ain’t gonna cut it here.”

Slick finally turns to him, but the easy smile he’d have gotten for that joke at any other time  is replaced with a blank look. “Do you remember yesterday? After you got back to the table with the cider?”

“Yeah…” Crim says slowly, recalling Slick’s troubled expression at the Café. “You were freaking out about somethin’ but wouldn’t talk.”

“It was Undyne… She came in after you left.”

“So? What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, it’s just… she saw me, and...” He’s fumbles inside the blankets, and momentarily, a lit screen in a shaking hand pokes out from beneath the covers. “And apparently she texted me. A lot. I didn’t- I didn’t get any of the texts because my phone was broken, but…”

“You got ‘em when you turned on the new one,” Crim finishes for him as he squints at the small text in the dark room. Slick nods in confirmation and helpfully tilts the screen towards him so he can read the last few texts she sent.

Despite trying to, Crim still doesn’t get it. Who is this chick? Some old coworker? A needy ex? She’s obviously not the Undyne Crim knows and hates. In the entire two months he’s been here, he hasn’t even heard Slick speak her name and now he’s a mess. “I’m not following here, Slick. Why the hell are you freaked out because some chick texted you?”

“We used to date,” Slick says, which answers at least one of his suspicions. “Back when we were teen- uh, young adults, just past 17. We’d uh… been together for about six months when my mom died.” Crim doesn’t know what to say. He still can’t connect the dots, can’t figure out why texts from his ex made Slick show up this late.

“It was just- It was hard being around her after that, you know?” he continues. “She’d just gotten an internship at the Labs a few weeks before people found out about my mom. She didn’t have anything to do with what they did to her, of course!” he hurries to say. “She wasn’t even in that department yet.” Crim sighs quietly when Slick pauses. He leans back against the wall and listens carefully when the guy continues.

“She helped me, kept me updated on whatever she could dig up about the experiments. It’s how I know what they were trying to do. How I know why - and how - she died. It took almost a month before I could even look at Undyne again. And she was so great.” A ghost of a smile passes over his face, but it’s gone so fast Crim wonders if he might have imagined it. “She didn’t blame me for it. She understood when I explained why, forgave me.”

“A few weeks later, my dad…”

“He dusted,” Crim says when Slick falters, making the guy nod.

“Yeah, I just couldn’t… Couldn’t keep it together, I guess.” He gives a weak shrug. “I spiralled out of control... It all happened _so_ fast. I was surrounded by all this pain and all these problems and it felt like I was losing my mind.” His words get more hurried, panicked but he sucks in a shuddering breath when Crim nudges him with an elbow.

“I-I felt _so guilty_ for not stopping the Queen. All I had to do was go over there and their argument would have been interrupted. If she had seen me, she wouldn’t have-” He cuts himself off with an angry sigh, glaring at his lap. “I could have saved my dad, but instead I ended up getting him killed because I was too fucking curious-”

“Hey,” Crim interrupts him, grabbing his clenched fist. “Ain’t nothing you could have done, Slick. It’s her fault, _not_ yours.”

“Yeah,” Slick says bitterly. “I told myself that for months too: ‘It wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t have done anything.’ It’s bullshit.”

“It was just bad luck,” Crim says gently.

An acrid huff leaves Slick. “Yeah, that’s what the townspeople kept saying too,” he says. “ _‘It’s so awful. They’re so young. Poor Sans and Papyrus, losing both their parents so soon after each other.’_ ” Slick’s hands tighten into fists, curling into the blankets. “They didn’t even fucking care they had a part to play in my mom’s murder too. All that _pity_. Hypocrites, all of them.”

“Sans was barely 13 and he spent three months crying non-stop! I just couldn’t comfort him, no matter what I did! It drove me fucking nuts. Just hearing his constant sobbing through the wall, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to soothe his pain. The only two people who knew how to do it was gone. Stolen from us.” The anger bleeds out of him and he slumps down, his head lowering. His eyes close and his next words are spoken so softly Crim barely hears them.

“I didn’t really know my brother until I was forced to. We’d always just been around each other, but we never really got along. We fought like crazy over the stupidest things and we spent _years_ hating each other’s guts. _Everything_ he did pissed me off and then suddenly, out of the blue, he was the most important thing in my life. I was _terrified_ something would happen to him too. I never knew how much I fucking loved that kid until he was all I had left. Everything that had gone wrong between us didn’t matter anymore and I tried _everything_ to make him happy. But…”

“He still hated me,” Slick says brokenly after taking in a slow, rattling breath. “I think he blamed me for Dad.” His head turns slightly and it’s the only sign of him glancing at Crim. His empty sockets unsettle something deep inside Crim. It’s disturbing, unnatural and _wrong_ seeing his friend like this.

“I think he still blames me for it,” Slick admits, whispering the words like they won’t be true as long as no one hears them. “The way he looks at me sometimes… Like he did back then. It was bad enough that he wouldn’t listen to me, wouldn’t let me help. He was so _angry_ at the world and at me and everything in between.”

Crim sees Slick’s frustration rise again as he angrily gestures inside his blankets. “I had to take care of this kid who was inconsolable and he wouldn’t even let me try! I had to feed him, but I had no idea how to cook and no idea what he liked. I had to deal with the bills and the wills and all that shit. My parents _died_ and I was drowning in paperwork.” His gestures get weaker until his shoulders slump, the sudden burst of energy burning out as fast as it had arrived.

Crim sits quietly, trying to picture a teenaged Blue with a bad attitude and anger issues. He can’t. Trying to imagine Blue being _anything_ like Crim himself was at that age... angry, stubborn, spiteful… It’s impossible compared to the image of the obnoxiously positive and irritating Blue he knows now. Hearing Slick speak, it’s eerie how similar they were, considering how they couldn’t be more different now.

“I had absolutely no idea what I was doing,” Slick continues. “It’s only because Gerson showed up and helped me that I managed to keep the house and make sure Sans wasn’t kicked out of school for not attending classes. All their strict rules… They would have kicked him out, just like that, while preaching about limited resources and not having enough teachers to allow unserious students to take up a valuable spot. You know how they are.” Crim doesn’t, not really. Education is not something they have the privilege of in his world. But he still nods like he understands, urging Slick to continue.

“And Undyne, she kept being cool. Stayed over and cooked for us. She even helped me clean the house every day. Managed to get Sans out of the room for a few hours. But the biggest thing she did was drag Alphys with her so she could help me figure out what to do with my parents’ belongings.” Slick lets out a tired sigh.

“She wasn’t the Captain back then, but she worked as a Guard. She helped finish up all the legal stuff, made sure we got all their stuff from their workplaces. Hell, she even made Sans laugh!” Slick shakes his head. “I felt like such a fucking failure. Two days with Alphys and Sans was back to laughing and making jokes, and even though he was still angry all the time, he functioned. He finished school a few years later and as time went by he got more and more control over himself. Alphys trained him to give him an outlet for all that rage and he _flourished_ . It was like a totally different monster took over his body. And then suddenly, Sans was taking care of _me_.”

“Slick, it wasn’t your job to-"

“Yes, yes it fucking was,” Slick snaps. He taps a fist against his chest once when he continues. “He’s _my_ brother and I was supposed to take care of him. But instead, I let myself fall apart and other people had to clean up my mess.”

“And if that wasn’t enough proof of how big of a screw up I am,” Slick hurries to continue before Crim can disagree with him, “then Undyne managing to crack some of my dad’s work when I couldn’t. She ended up helping a ton of monsters that were barely holding on to life. Dad had been working on a cure for Hope Loss for decades and he was _so_ close. A couple of weeks more and he would have done it. Undyne only managed to figure out how to slow it down, delay the inevitable, but it was _huge_.” He snorts.

“She calls them ‘Soul Stabilizers’. It’s these tiny green pills that helps your soul make magic. She couldn’t crack the big code, even though she tried. She tried so hard… And it was all for me. _Because_ of me.”

He’s quiet for a minute, just staring into the air. Crim lets him think, mostly because he doesn’t know what to say. Stuff like this… it’s not something he’s used to in his world.

A deep breath tells Crim Slick is ready to continue. “I didn’t even realize what was happening to me before I Fell the first time,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know how sick I was. Years had just seemed to have gone by without me really noticing. And along the way, I had just stopped answering her calls. Didn’t read her texts. Hell, I didn’t even go to see her. I pretended to be asleep or I teleported out when she came to the house. I just couldn’t stand looking at her, because I knew she would be looking right back and I would be able to see her heart breaking. I would be able to see how much pain I was causing her, how much she was working herself half to death, trying to crack my dad’s code so she could save me from what we all knew was inevitably gonna to happen.” Crim doesn’t like the indifference in Slick’s voice. He talks about it with no emotion, like he doesn’t care how close to dusting he always is. Like it’s no big deal.

“She was the perfect girl, Crim,” Slick says brokenly, _finally_ letting some emotion back into his voice. Big, fat tears fill his sockets and starts dipping down his face. He has trouble getting the words out when he goes on. “She was s-so fucking smart she made _me_ look stupid. She got so excited over shit and I could stare at her for hours while she was working on some experiment. And when it blew up in her face like all her first attempts did, she would just laugh and say that it meant she was on to something. She was so fucking crazy and I loved her for it. My parents adored her and Sans practically saw her as family already.” Slick rubs his face into his shoulder, trying to wipe away his tears off on the thin t-shirt to no avail.

“We had even talked about where we would live after getting mated and how many kids we would have,” Slick continues, shaking his head. “We were so young and stupid. But after my dad, I just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stand the thought of being with her and starting a family because all I could think about was how I would eventually screw that up too. Maybe get her dusted or we’d lose our kids to some fucked up disease. Or maybe they’d get my powers and end up dying in the barrier like my mom.” He clears his throat, but the gravel doesn’t disappear from his voice.

“All I could see was horror scenarios,” he cries quietly. “No matter what I did, everything turned to shit. Everything I touched broke and everyone I cared for ended up getting hurt. So I just stopped fucking caring, because that was easier. She was the first one I cut out of my life and when Alphys eventually showed up at my doorstep to shout at me to get my shit together or she’d fire my ass, I just gave her the finger. Didn’t even care she had just been promoted to Captain. If it hadn’t been for Sans, she would have done it. Instead, she just demoted me to sentry. At least that way, I couldn’t fuck things up further.”

“So what?” Crim asks when it seems like Slick isn’t going to continue. “Does she wanna get back together?”

“No,” Slick says, shaking his head. “She just wanna know how I’m doing. Want to ‘talk to me about stuff’.” He tries to wipe his face again, with as little success as last time.

“Isn’t that a good thing? Means she’s not pissed at least.”

“I don’t know,” Slick says. “I know I owe her an apology, but…”

“You don’t know what to say to her?” Crim offers. Slick just shrugs unhelpfully.

“What can I possibly say to make it all better? I-,” he pauses, huffing a breath that Crim guesses is a pathetic shell of a laugh, “I just pretended she didn’t exist until she left me alone. I was too busy trying to pretend that I didn’t either.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want an explanation, or an apology. Maybe she’s just really worried about you.” That doesn’t seem to calm him down like Crim had hoped. Actually, it does the exact opposite. Slick’s face contorts and he tries to hide the fresh batch of tears that wells up in his sockets by covering his face with his hands. When a wrecked sob tears out of him and he bends over himself, Crim panics.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” he exclaims. All his words do is make Slick cry harder. Something deep inside Crim starts hurting at the sight, and suddenly, his instincts kick in.

Slick is heavy and unresponsive when Crim tries to coax him into turning towards him. After a few seconds of fighting, he has to admit defeat. Slick is way too heavy for him when he’s not cooperating. Instead, Crim digs himself underneath the cocoon of blankets and in under Slick’s hunched over form. He presses himself against the other, throwing his arms around his ribcage. Trying to offer whatever shitty comfort he can, he hooks his chin over Slick’s shoulder and holds him as close as possible.

He’s still freezing cold, like he’s been sitting in snow and not blankets, and Crim feels a stab of annoyance directed at himself. He should have fucking thought about that! Slick is nowhere near able to produce enough magic to heat himself after being awake for so long. Not in his condition. His missing eyelights should have been a crystal clear sign and Crim was too stupid to realize it. He hurries to pull as much of the blankets up around them as he can and tries to press his chest as close to Slick’s as possible to keep his soul warm.

It takes Slick a couple of minutes to realize he’s being hugged, but when he does he wraps himself around Crim and desperately hugs him close. Crim can feel Slick’s fingers digging into his t-shirt, his arms clutching his back. When he hides his face against Crim’s neck and continues to cry loudly, his body shaking with powerful sobs, Crim starts to softly stroke his back and hum comforting sounds.

“I-I didn’t- I didn’t-,” Slick finally hiccups into his shoulder, but the latter part of whatever he was trying to say gets lost in a thick sob.

“What?”

“I didn’t love her,” he repeats. “She was,” he pauses, another shuddering sob ripping through him, “she was my best friend and we started dating because we thought there w-was, was something more there. But I-I never loved her like that. I tried so hard, I tried, but I just couldn’t, I couldn’t....” After that his words become a warbled mess, making them impossible to understand.

After a few minutes with Slick’s quiet sobs as the only sound to fill the silence, Crim finally feels Slick stop shaking. His body starts warming up and soon his sobs taper off. For a while, it’s only small hiccups and sniffles coming from him until his body goes slack, like all the energy just evaporates. He makes no attempt to pull away from the hug and Crim doesn’t try to make him. He has a feeling the guy needs this more than he’s willing to admit.

After giving him a few minutes to collect himself, Crim asks, “You’re going to tell me what the hell just happened there, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Slick says quietly.

“You don’t have to apologize to me man. Just tell me where I fucked up so I don’t do it again.”

“You didn’t. It’s just…” He hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to tell Crim whatever he’s thinking. “I’m a burden to everyone around me, but they just keep caring about me, no matter what I do. I hurt them over and over again and everyone is just so nice to me. I don’t deserve it.”

“‘Course you do. You’re a pretty cool guy. Ain’t your fault you’re messed up.”

“But it is,” Slick says. “I did this to myself. _I_ pushed everyone away, _I_ stopped caring. I stopped fighting.”

“Because you were hurtin’. You can’t be blamed for trying to protect yourself. You had a lot of shitty stuff happen to you and you dealt with it the only way you could.”

“I could have done better if I hadn’t been such a weakling.”

“You were a kid, Slick,” Crim argues. The way he says it, making sure he knows it’s non-negotiable, makes Slick sniffle again. “A kid ain’t supposed to handle that shit.”

Slick rubs his face on Crim shoulder slowly. It feels almost like a nuzzle, but it’s probably just him trying to dry his face. “How old were you when your parents died?” he asks, mumbling against Crim’s neck.

“That’s different,” Crim dismisses his question, his words sharp and clipped.

“It’s exactly the same,” Slick argues, like he already knows the answer. A heavy weight settles in the lower section of Crim’s rib cage. It’s familiar and terrifying, and Slick’s arms  start to feel like they’re constricting around him, squeezing all the air out of his body.

He pulls away gently, mostly because he doesn’t want the guy to think he’s doing it because he can’t stand touching him anymore - despite the fact that’s exactly the reason. It’s not because it’s Slick, but just the fact that it’s _someone_ starts a chain reaction of panic deep in Crim’s soul. Slick’s expression falls even more and Crim catches the flash of disappointment crossing his face before he looks away.

Instead of ending their conversation like he wants to do, Crim bites his tongue, feeling unsure. Slick has always been open, sharing stuff about his past that caused him a lot of pain. He trusts Crim, that much is obvious, and Crim… He just keeps being the douchebag that never reciprocates. Thinking back on the last time they were in this situation, sitting in this very room with what could be called Slick’s parents’ remains, Crim feels nausea press against the back of his throat. He had been such a _dick_. Not going into details about one of the most painful memories he has is one thing, but being that curt? That wasn’t necessary.

“My world ain’t like yours, Slick,” Crim says, meeting Slick’s gaze when the other looks back at him. The words don’t come to him easily and he feels like they get stuck in his throat, but he keeps trying. It’s the least he can do and explaining why they’re so different isn’t that bad. “My parents prepared me for the day I’d be without them. I didn’t get to be a kid like you. I knew what I had to do when they got dusted, because they had taught me how to survive since I could walk. It didn’t make the pain any less, but I _never_ faltered. I kept my shit together and I protected my bro, because if I hadn’t, we would both be dead right now.” The longer he speaks, the paler Slick seems to get. “So you see, we ain’t the same.”

“How old were you?” Slick asks again. He sighs when he sees Slick’s expression settle into stubbornness when Crim doesn’t immediately answer. He isn’t going to drop the subject.

“Nine.” His answer causes exactly the reaction he feared: more tears. This time they’re quiet, just spilling over and dripping down Slick’s cheeks heedlessly until they fall on the blankets with soft patters.

“Crim, I-I... How?” he whispers. “How did you get through that without losing your mind?”

Crim shrugs. “I just had to. You’d be surprised at the things you’re able to handle when your life is hanging in the balance. Trivial shit like grief and pain don’t matter, because if you let it slow you down, it’ll kill you.”

“What’s going on in your universe?” Slick asks, horrified. “You make it sound like it’s the end of the world.”

“Pretty much is,” Crim admits, jumping at the opportunity to talk about something slightly less personal.

“My world ain’t like yours,” he repeats. He feels the words come easier and he lets them spill, hoping it’ll satisfy Slick enough to not ask about his parents again. “People ain’t nice like here. Everyone is desperate, scared or have just gone completely batshit crazy. That’s what happens when a lotta people tryin’ to survive trample each other.”

“But why?” Slick questions.

“We ran outta options a long time ago. Some kid that fell down took the all the human souls with them when they snuck out, and after that it was officially over. There’s no hope of collecting another seven before we die out, so we know for a fact that we’re stuck Underground forever. Some monsters couldn’t handle that. It drove them insane.”

Crim can’t do anything but shrug when Slick’s jaw drops in disbelief. Doing anything else means breaking down and letting that suffocating desperation take hold of his soul. Thinking about never being able to leave, being _stuck_ … It’s not easy. It’s a sense of claustrophobia no one can fight if they let themselves dwell on it. It’s a one way road straight to insanity and Crim refuses to go there.

“It’s… It’s just over?” Slick asks. Crim gives a sharp nod and clears his throat.

“That’s what started it all, pretty much,” he tells him. “It’s always been a struggle to survive and there’s always been problems with keepin’ the peace, but it’s like that put the famous last nail in the coffin.” He rearranges his legs a bit and pulls the blankets tighter around him. He has to admit, talking about this feels kinda relieving, like saying it out loud makes it less scary. “Factions started formin’ and the supply restrictions got even tighter. People started killin’ each other over stupid shit like a pair of pants or a can of soup. Nowadays a random stranger will off you for a few extra EXP, just so they can get stronger. There’s some kinda prestige in it. Some monsters even see it as a fuckin’ _competition._ Survival of the fittest. You gotta be the sharpest blade in the box or you’ll end up with an even sharper one in your back.”

“Kill or be killed,” Slick offers.

“Yeah, exactly. It’s pure anarchy.” Slick keeps watching him for a while when Crim doesn’t continue, and it’s easy to see how heavy thoughts fill his mind.

“Is that why your LV is so high…?” Crim’s head turns away so fast he feels his neck protest the sudden movement. His chest _burns_ at the mention of it, shame and guilt welling up inside him. The rush of combat and the uncertainty of a fight, knowing that each tiny mistake can cost him his life is the ultimate thrill, but dusting someone - Crim hates that part. Taking lives, standing in a pile of dust and feeling that swell of new power invade his soul like a sickening parasite are some of the worst memories he has. Asserting his dominance, scaring people who dared challenge him or earning respect by kicking someone’s ass is great and all, but he’d always tried to avoid killing. He’d told himself for many years it was because he didn’t want to be another reason monsterkind died out too fast, but he eventually had to admit the truth.

He hates killing. He remembers his first time too vividly and he remembers the long days of agony afterwards, trying to find a way to live with what he had done. The only comfort he could find was that if he hadn’t done it, Papyrus would be dead. He’d saved his baby brother and eventually, that helped him cope.

“Self-defense,” he explains to Slick after being quiet for too long. “Sometimes… Mercy just ain’t an option.”

All these revelations seem to shock Slick into a tensed silence. He sits, wide-eyed and with wrinkles casting shadows on his forehead, hands clenching and unclenching between their bodies. They’re still uncomfortably close, enough for Crim to feel the tips of Slick’s fingers brush past his chest, but Crim doesn’t dare move away and risk Slick getting too cold again.

“Why doesn’t the Royal Guard do something?” Slick then asks, making Crim bark out a harsh and humorless laugh.

“Because they’re all pretentious assholes, that’s why,” he answers. “Bein’ a Guard ain’t about saving people or keeping order. That title gives them power and prestige; they’re the most ruthless of us all. They’re there to punish the people and uphold the few laws we still have, and to make sure no one even thinks about challenging the Royals. Their main objective is to make sure we don’t end up killing each other too fast, so monsterkind goes extinct.”

Crim shakes his head, his tone turning dark and angry. “The Royals still blindly believe that if people just keep poppin’ out kids, we can survive until we’ve collected enough souls. But having kids or even getting mated in my world is a fucking deathwish nowadays. The faction leaders will pretty much do anything to keep each other from getting too strong by getting too many mated couples who’re loyal to them. They have actual _kill squads_ who hunt down and take out any potential threats. None that openly show their faces, ‘course, ‘cause the Guard has strict orders to make sure people reproduce and all like that. But they’re out there. Showing up out of the blue and disappearing again before the Guards can do anything. It’s been about two decades since a kid survived past their second birthday. And I don’t think anyone has even tried to mate in that time. Too dangerous, even though the benefits are worth it. Usually, couples disappear when they start getting a bit too serious.”

“That’s horrible!” Slick exclaims.

“It is what it is, Slick. People will do _anything_ to stay on the top of the foodchain.”

“But there has to be something you can do! It can’t just be the end,” Slick says, grabbing his hands. “A- a loophole, or some kinda magic-science hybrid that can tear down the barrier.”

“Have you guys found anything like that?”

“No… Not yet, anyway.” Slick slumps down again.

“Just… trust me on this Slick,” Crim says, gently easing his hands out of the other’s tight grip. Slick desperately latches onto his forearms instead and Crim doesn’t shake him off this time. “There’s nothing we can do and even if we could, we’re not strong enough to take on the humans. With our few numbers and the fact that no one trusts each other, we would never survive going outside the barrier. It’s over for us. Monsterkind is gonna die out in my world and that’s that.”

“How can you be so calm about it?” he asks. Crim swallows thickly.

“What else can I do? The world is ending,” he says with a shrug. “Tough shit. Doesn’t mean I have to lie down and accept it. I still got a life to live.”

“But it doesn’t sound like much of a life,” Slick points out.

“Life is what you make of it. That all that counts,” he says, repeating the words he had once said to a very different Papyrus: tiny, scared and looking at Crim like he trusted him to fix the world.

“Why do you want to go back to a place like that?” Slick asks. “You’re safe here. Back there the only future you’ll have to look forward to is dying. Here you can- you can find a mate. Have kids. Be happy.”

The way Slick’s hands tighten around Crim’s forearms, his eagerness over finding good reasons for Crim to stay is kinda cute. But they’re also impossible. Crim would never be able to be happy here and the reason why is simple. “Would you leave your brother to die alone in a place like that if you were me?” Crim counters. Even if his brother was here too, Crim has no intention of ever staying in this universe. They simply don’t belong, but Slick will never understand that. He’ll never understand the unrest in Crim’s soul that just keeps growing bigger.

“No,” Slick admits reluctantly after a tensed silence.

“There you go then.”

The silence that lowers between them now feels heavy with emotion. Crim feels tired and more emotionally drained than he has been in a long time, but surprisingly enough he doesn’t feel uncomfortable or scared. Telling Slick these things, even the tiny bits about Crim’s own shitty life, didn’t feel wrong. Somewhere along the way, during the course of their growing friendship and, without even noticing, Crim had started to trust Slick too.

“Crim… What happened here?” Slick asks quietly. Crim becomes suddenly aware of Slick’s fingers brushing over his bare forearms, running over the bumps of his scars that he hadn’t thought about until now. The paste covering them is worn thin after a long day, their dark edges easy to see and feel under it. He curses himself for not taking a shower before going to bed and refilling them afterwards.

He pulls his arms out of Slick’s grip. “Nothin’,” he answers. “Just a few scrapes and bruises.”

“That’s a lot more than just scrapes, Crim,” Slick says, trying to reach out to touch his arm again. Crim slaps his hand away. “Some of these feel like fractures.”

“Quit it,” he snaps at Slick. “I said it was nothing! Just some old, crappily healed wounds. Ain’t nothing to worry about.”

“Then why are you covering them with bone paste like you’re trying to hide them?”

“Because I don’t want people to see them, _obviously_.”

“Why not? Who did this to you?” Slick presses. He leans closer, trying to capture Crim’s eyes.

“Can we not do this right now?”

“But-”

“No, stop asking! I don’t want to talk about it,” Crim almost shouts. Slick flinches back as if Crim had slapped him.

“Okay,” Slick relents, lifting his hands between them invisibly beneath the blanket. The sullen silence that follows Crim’s outburst makes the knife of regret twist in his gut. He just had to make the poor guy’s night even worse.

Crim sighs. “Let’s just... get some sleep, okay? It’s been a long day,” he offers, hoping his olive branch will ease the tension between them. When Slick nods and echoes his sigh, Crim moves to lie down, fully expecting Slick to follow him. When Slick instead turns towards the door after he wriggles out of blankets, Crim quickly grabs the side of the too-short t-shirt he’d borrowed before the guy can get far.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

“Uhm… To my bed?” Slick answers with quiet confusion.

“Come on man, don’t be stupid. You’re still freezing your ass off. You need my body heat to keep you warm until your magic is recharged,” Crim says, but as he’s speaking the words, he can see Slick isn’t convinced he’s being serious. “Besides, if you get upset again, I’ll be right here to help,” he adds, trying to look serious despite half-hanging off the bed with his hand in the guy’s shirt.

“I- I’m-” Slick fidgets with his hands anxiously.

“Don’t make it weird,” Crim says, rolling his eyelights and relinquishing his grip on the shirt. “Just shut up and lie down, will ya?”

Slick moves slowly towards the bed, sockets trained on Crim as he pushes himself further in on the bed, claiming his favorite spot. He has always slept better with his back to the wall, found ease in knowing no one could sneak up on him.

Whatever uncertainty had taken hold of Slick’s soul vanishes the moment Crim finishes getting nestled into his spot. Into all the space left behind, the guy belly flops onto the bed, diving straight into the small mountain of different sized pillows and lets out a happy groan when he sinks into the soft mattress under him. He buries his face in one of the larger pillows and wiggles around a bit, his fingers curling into top and side the edges of the mattress. For a moment Crim sees a larger version of Missy stretched out in front of him and the image makes him huff in amusement. Slick is the world’s largest kitten.

While Slick busies himself with getting comfortable amidst the nest of pillows, Crim gets to work on the messy jumble of blankets the two of them had left on the center of the bed. When Slick finally slumps down, face turned towards Crim, he can see the guy watching him silently out of the corner of his eyelights. Crim tries not to focus too much on the feeling of eyes on his back as he tries to take the blanket lump apart.

Untangling them turns out to be a bit of a nuisance, but he finally gets them separated. He throws two of them over Slick’s limp body, making sure they’re tucked in securely and no part of him is exposed so the heat can’t escape. It’s been years since he’d last tucked someone into bed, but he remembers it like it was yesterday. The motions feel almost automatic as he goes through them. Once he’s done, he falls backwards with a sigh and drags the last blanket up over his own body.

Before he can give in to the exhaustion itching in his sockets, he rolls over on his side. He steals a pillow for himself before Slick can capture all of them in his deathgrip hug, and Slick lets out a sad little hum in response that Crim promptly ignores. He makes sure to not leave too much room between them and sneaks a knee under Slick’s covers to let his body heat move freely between them.

He settles down after that and quickly feels his eyelids grow heavier. Despite wanting nothing more than to let sleep take him, he ends up watching Slick’s face. The other’s expression is soft and relaxed, miles away from the one he had walked through Crim’s door with. It’s a good thing, Crim decides. There was definitely something unsettling in watching Slick’s carefree facade break. But, although he didn’t like being witness to his breakdown, Crim still feels a sense of calm when thinking about it. Despite feeling a bit like his soul had been exposed, there’s a distinct sense of satisfaction when he thinks back on their conversation. He suspects Slick has needed someone to listen for a long time and for some reason it pleases Crim that he was the guy Slick trusted with this. It’s a dangerous feeling, that pleasant warmth in his soul, but if the only thing he’s forced to leave behind is a consequence of paying Slick back for keeping him company and occupying his mind while he endured the long wait, then Crim can deal with it.

Amidst his musings, he misses the moment when Slick’s eyes open. When he realizes they’re staring into his own, Crim crash lands back in the present moment. Slick’s gaze burns and the longer he stays quiet, just watching Crim, the more Crim feels his chest tighten. After an undetermined amount of time, Slick’s mouth twitches in a smile, causing the tight feeling to migrate into Crim’s throat.

“Thank you,” Slick mumbles then, his voice barely audible over the soft whisper of their mingling breaths. Crim swallows to clear his throat and finally finds the strength to look away.

“Don’t mention it.” When he glances back at Slick, his eyes are closed again but his smile remains. Within minutes his face relaxes into a neutral expression, his body growing lax and his breathing slowing down. It’s only when Crim is sure Slick is fast asleep that he realizes he’s been staring.  

He forces his eyes to close, willing sleep to finally take him. After a few minutes, it does.

* * *

The thing about sleeping in a workshop turned guestroom is that the tiny windows at the very top of the outer walls don’t provide much light early in the morning. It’s first later in the day, around noon, when the crystals overhead get so bright that his room is completely lit up. So when Crim’s eyes crack open, heavy with sleep and his vision blurry, there’s nothing that helps him determine what time it is. It could be an hour after he fell asleep or fifteen, he has no idea. His body is still waking up, tingling pleasantly as the numbness bleeds away, and he blames that when he doesn’t immediately realize the situation he’s in. When he can’t move his arm to reach for the loudly buzzing phone on the nightstand, it finally occurs to him to look down.

Lying in the curve of his arm with his forehead tucked under Crim’s chin is Slick, face still lax with sleep. One of Slick’s hands is nestled between their chests, his fingers curled into the fabric of Crim’s t-shirt. Slick is lying so close that his mouth just barely touches the back of his own hand and there’s something about it - it makes him look almost fragile.

Slick’s other arm is unaccounted for, but Crim soon realizes it’s because it’s draped loosely over his waist, hidden underneath the blankets still wrapped tightly around their bodies. Crim’s other arm lies in a similar position, snuck under Slick’s arm and curved around his chest. Crim uneasily realizes that they’re lying in an unmistakable embrace, and the only two positives he can find to soothe the rising anxiety in his soul are that Slick is still asleep, and also pleasantly warm. Pressed up against Crim as he is, he can feel that Slick’s magic must have kicked back in and heated him up sometime during the night.

He doesn’t know what to do. He fears that any movement on his part might wake the other and the last thing he wants is to deal with this awkward situation this early in the day. A part of him wants to just fall back asleep and hope Slick wakes up before him, removing himself without Crim having to deal with it. He can go on pretending nothing happened and nothing would change.

As it is, circumstance chooses for him. His musings are interrupted by the sound of swift-approaching footsteps, and his ingrained paranoia sets in. As he sits up, Slick automatically curls around him, releasing his waist to seek the warm spot he’d left behind. As Crim listens to the footsteps slow, what he hopes is an elbow presses into the small of his back. The footsteps pause outside for a couple seconds before his door gets kicked in with a harsh sound of wood slamming against wood cracking through the air. The spectacle rips Slick from his slumber and his entire body spasms in shock, flopping onto his back like a fish out of water. Two pairs of wide sockets - one above, one behind - exchange glances for the very briefest of moments before they simultaneously turn towards the door, finding a panting Blue standing there in a partial silhouette of intense panic. When Blue’s huge, anxious eyelights land on the wet clothes on the floor and then the two of them, his entire form stiffens up.

“Sans?” Slick mumbles from behind Crim, voice gravelly with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

Missy hisses loudly from her box in the cat tree, and that seemingly shakes him out of his paralyzed state. “What’s wrong?!” Blue exclaims. “I’ve been looking for you for over an hour!”

“Why?” Slick says, his confusion apparent.

“You weren’t in your bed!”

“Oh.” It’s like a lightbulb flashes over Slick’s head, and the tired lines around his eyes tighten as he looks anywhere but his brother. “Uhm, no, I crashed here last night.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Blue shrieks. “The question is _why?_ ” Slick’s mouth opens but no answer comes out. It’s only when Slick’s uncertain eyelights flick back to Crim’s that Crim realizes Slick doesn’t want to tell Blue the truth.

“Papy!” Blue shouts, and the commanding tone in his voice pisses Crim off. When he feels more than sees Slick’s sad attempt at trying to curl up behind him, he feels compelled to step in.

“Relax, kid,” Crim says, voice dripping with the drawling, mocking sarcasm that Blue hates. It’s easy as breathing to slide into his well-worn public persona, complete with his trademarked “fuck you” attitude and “don’t care” life philosophy. Blue’s narrowed eyes fixate on him, and Crim swears that he can feel the other trying to burn a hole through him with the intensity of that look alone.

He doesn’t mind accepting the searing blame in those eyes. In fact, Crim welcomes that gaze, is used to it; it feels just like home. And just like he might have done in the streets of his own Snowdin, he lets his own magic flow to his eyes and challenges the other wordlessly. _Come on, try some shit and see how that works out for you._ “He crashed while watching a movie and I was too lazy to carry him upstairs,” Crim lies through the sharp smile on his face, mentally daring Blue to refute him.

“Why didn’t you just teleport him then, huh?” Blue accuses.

“Because _someone_ gets their panties in a twist when I do that,” Crim fires back without effort.

“Like you have ever cared about that before,” he scoffs.

“Hm,” Crim says, actually pretending to think about it for a second. “Maybe I’m just sick of listening to your bullshit lectures?

His mocking tone paired with the shitty acting actually makes Blue’s eyelights flash. “You could at least have left me a text so I didn’t spend all morning searching Snowdin for him!” he snaps viciously. “Do you _want_ to get both of us fired?!”

Crim opens his mouth, ready to unleash a scathing retort, but stops when he feels a hand on his shoulder. His lit eyelights flicker to Slick, who’d propped himself on one elbow sometime during the argument to peek around Crim’s side.

“I’m sorry bro,” Slick grates out, his voice rough but genuinely apologetic. “Just didn’t think about it.” Blue’s burning stare rakes them both in angry silence for a handful of seconds. Crim notices his gaze stick on the warm hand on his shoulder, the borrowed shirt Slick is wearing and, lastly, move to Slick’s tired face. Under the scrutiny of two pairs of charged eyelights, the deep, dark circles under his sockets still map the world of distress he’d been in last night. Combined with the slumped shoulders and the weakness of his voice, they’re all dead give-aways, and Crim knows that if _he_ can see it, Blue most certainly can too.

He knows he’s right when Blue sighs deeply and relaxes his tensed stance, visibly pulling back his anger and slapping on a neutral expression that isn’t quite cheerful, but still a marked improvement. His voice is just a bit too shrill when he speaks, but there’s no hint of his previous exasperation.

“It’s… it’s okay,” he says, forcing the words out. “Just-” Blue sighs again, his eyelights dimming. “Just remember it if there’s a next time.” He turns towards the door and looks over his shoulder at Slick. “Now come on, we’re already late for work.” With that, he vanishes out the door, leaving it wide open and forcing the two of them to get out of bed or freeze their asses off. Crim feels the hand on his shoulder brush off.

“Man, your bro has some serious control issues,” Crim mutters, letting the magic drain out of his eyelights. The moment he lets the magic go, he gets hit with a wave of fatigue. It’s as true in this universe as his own: there’s nothing like some asshole kicking your door open first thing in the morning to get your soul going. He’s pretty sure Blue broke the fucking lock right off the hinge.

“He’s just worried about me,” Slick says in his brother’s defense, and then sighs. “He’s right, I should have left him a note, or a text, or, you know, gone back to my own bed.”

“If you’d done that, ya would’a frozen to death, Slick,” Crim counters, morning gravel now obvious in his voice. “Ya can’t be stupid and stand out in the snow in nothin’, with no magic production, and think you’ll survive without help.”

“Thank you,” Slick says quietly as he finally pushes himself up, and Crim doesn’t miss the meaningful look he gives the open door.

“I told ya last night,” Crim says gruffly, and doesn’t bother suppressing a yawn. “Mmh. Don’t mention it.”

“But you kinda saved my life a bit,” Slick presses on. “It’s only fair I thank you for that.”

“I’d be a pretty crappy friend if I let ya dust because of a bit of snow, now wouldn’t I?” he says, reaching over Slick to grab his gloves and pull them on.

“And yet, I still want to pay you back.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Crim relents, rolling his eyes at Slick’s stubborn expression. He’s tired, cold, and entirely unwilling to argue that point this early in his day. “You can buy me lunch, how about that?”

“What, my life is only worth lunch?” he says with a degree of affront that takes Crim off guard. “I thought I meant more to you than that.” He stares out the open door in obviously melodramatic existential horror. _“My whole being is worth a voucher at Muffet’s,”_ he whispers, clutching at the front of his rumpled shirt.

Crim chuckles and shoves him into the pile of pillows he’d abandoned last night, but the idiot only sprawls out and smiles up at him. “Damn drama queen. Okay, _fine_ , lunch for a week then. And you can make Missy another scratching tree. She keeps digging her claws into the side of the desk.”

“Deal,” he says, slowly counting his fingers without bothering to get up a second time. “Seven vouchers and a scratching post,” he says, making Crim rolls his eyelights. “New record.” When he flashes seven fingers at Crim, he shoves the only pillow Slick hadn’t jacked from him last night straight into the other’s face.

“Shut up and go with your bro before he breaks down another door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We will love you forever if you tell us what you think <3
> 
> ### Next Update will be on the 24th of September! See you then.  
> 


	14. Jealousy, the Blue-Eyed Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE MADE IT ON TIME, GUYS!!! Broken legs and other life drama can't stop us! We are a God-damned power team, s'what we are. Thanks to one of our lovely readers, we've been notified that there's a trigger in this chapter we would have been completely unprepared for tagging, so thanks to them, we're able to keep everyone safer! You know who you are, lovely reader! That being said, check the fancy new tags on the story! As well, there's another reader-inspired OC showing up in this chapter who'll get a bigger spotlight in the future. ;3c Now then, for another round of:
> 
> ## TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
>  _Minor marijuana/drugs implied reference._ **The tag comes into effect at the very final part of the chapter, just after Greater Dog (GD) leaves Blue after the confrontation.** If this bothers you, you can just let know and we'll give you a summary. And even if it doesn't, you can still...
> 
> Come scream at us on tumblr!  
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~

## ~ Chapter Fourteen ~  
Jealousy, the Blue-Eyed Monster

_“There are three things all wise men fear:_  
_the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man."_

_-_ Patrick Rothfuss

* * *

 

“Papy, I’m starting dinner!” Sans calls as he sets the tea to boil. “Is there anything you want tonight?”

“Nothing, bro,” he hears Papy’s muffled response from the living room. Sans can easily imagine that he’d shoved his face in a pillow. “Not hungry.”

“Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want anything to eat?” he calls from the kitchen for the second time, giving his voice an enticing lilt. “I’m making grilled cheese sandwiches and a really pretty salad!” 

“My loss, I guess,” comes the apathetic response to one of Papy’s favorite dishes, making Sans sigh.

He knows that Papy is trying to get out of a dinner conversation with him, and he’s not entirely surprised, honestly. His brother had been doing nothing but lounging around on the couch - the very same couch he’d had to meticulously pull apart and vacuum yesterday to remove all the wood bits stuck in it - and deflecting his almost-but-not-quite-prying questions since he’d stepped in the door half an hour ago. He’d long since put it down to Papy still being upset at him for earlier that morning, so he keeps to himself while he prepares the food.

Making dinner after patrol is a familiar routine that he finds calming, and it’s a much needed reprieve from the double-time run he’d been pulling all day. Thankfully, he’d exhausted all of his angry energy and the only thing left in him is a quiet resentment that doesn’t seem to want to leave his system completely. The mere thought of his brother and  _ Crim… together... _

Sans gathers the cooking utensils with a little more intensity than necessary, glaring accusingly at a spatula that took two tries to remove from the wall hook.

Well, perhaps not  _ all _ of the angry energy. While he feels tired, his mind is more than ready to continue down the fiery train of thought he’d set aside for work this morning.

Coming in on the two like that had been a shock - there had been no warning signs whatsoever that Sans had seen for that sort of thing on either side. He’ll admit, grudgingly, that he might have overreacted a little at first in the face of… of  _ the obvious fact, _ but it was only because he was worried for Papy’s sake. Crim’s barefaced lying was only the icing on the terrible cake consisting of that situation.

He’d seen that his brother had been doing better lately, but Papy hadn’t had a single heat in  _ years _ , much less seemed interested in… sexual activities. For Stars’ sake, there was no precedent for that at all! No dating, no touching - nothing! And now…

Sans makes a face while flipping the grilled cheese in the pan. He’d really hoped Papy would find another friend like Undyne someday: a genuinely compassionate person who has countless positive qualities about them. She had really been a best case scenario, but now he’s intimate with that- that egocentric, no good, selfish jerk! How could he have missed the signs? Sure, Crim and Papy had been getting friendlier towards each other since they’d started the guest room project, but he hadn’t thought there was anything  _ more _ . 

And... perhaps there isn’t, he thinks, mind travelling down a darker road. After all, he wouldn’t put it past Crim to utilize a heat to seduce Papy into bed. The thought of him doing that actually makes a lot of sense, Sans realizes with an angry flip of a spatula. Crim wouldn’t care if he did something like that - after all, he planned on leaving soon anyway. What’s a little casual sex in the face of a temporary stay, right? Of course that degenerate wouldn’t care! Papy is probably just a game for him or some convenient distraction until he can go. The mere thought has him tightening his iron grip around the spatula handle dangerously. How dare Crim treat their lives like some… some perverted  _ game? _

With every day that passes, Sans is increasingly convinced that he’d made a huge mistake in letting Crim stay here, but now that he’s so involved with Papy… what is he going to do? What  _ can _ he do? He could tell Crim to get out - Stars know he has enough gold that finding another place won’t be a problem for him, and honestly some part of him enthusiastically  _ wants _ to let the door hit the other on the way out - but the terrifying, potential backlash for his brother makes him hesitate once again. He can’t even deny that Papy is just so  _ used _ to Crim being around, and now that they’re… sexual partners (ugh, he really doesn’t want to think about the connotations of that if at all possible) he’s not sure anymore what would happen if Crim, for all of his awful traits, suddenly left.

Sans has no idea how the arrogant, self-centered, short-tempered skeleton managed it, but he can’t deny that whatever Crim has done is wringing an undeniable change out of his brother. But, as happy as it makes him to see Papy more alert and cheerful these days instead of slogging through his perpetual, half-awake daze, he absolutely  _ hates _ the fact that,  _ because _ of Crim, those very improvements are temporary at best.

Exactly how he did it is a puzzle, one Sans just can’t seem to wrap his mind around, but he doesn’t  _ need _ to understand it to know that Crim is eternally ready to pull the metaphorical rug out from under Papy at a moment’s notice. It’s infuriating how easily Papy is being strung along, and every time Sans tries to  _ remind _ his brother of that fact that Crim’s existence here isn’t permanent, he gets this sad little shrug and the “Yeah, I know bro” that means he doesn’t know at  _ all. _ It makes him so angry for Papy’s sake, knowing how little Crim cares about either of them… or anything beyond his own dim horizon, really. And now  _ this? _ Where is he going to have to draw the line?

Sans shakes his head as he finishes up the grilled cheese sandwiches. The last thing he wants is a situation similar to what happened when Papy fell out of touch with Undyne, but at this point, something equally disastrous seems possible.

Despite his brother’s dismissal at the proposition of food, he’d made two sandwiches, and he cuts one in half. Depositing his dinner on the table, he takes another plate and puts the half-a-sandwich and a few greens on it for Papy.

“I know you said that you didn’t want anything,” he starts hopefully, “but you haven’t eaten anything today and I thought-”

He stops when he rounds the corner. There’s no one on the couch, or anywhere else in the living room for that matter. Concern on his face, Sans takes a couple steps back so he can see over the second story banister to get a bead on his brother’s room. From where he’s standing now, he can see that the door is closed, which probably means that Papy had gone to sleep sometime during his dinner preparations. 

Sans shakes his head as he takes the plate back to the kitchen, places the other half of the cut grilled cheese on it and covers it with a bit of plastic wrap. He sticks it in the fridge so Papy will hopefully eat it later. That done, he fills another glass with tea and takes it upstairs with him.

He knocks twice quietly on Papy’s door, and, receiving no response, lets himself in. The first thing that hits him is the thick scent of smoke, which makes his face scrunch up disapprovingly. Thankfully, it’s not  _ quite _ as thick as it was that morning due to him having opened a window to let it air out throughout the day. The floor is another issue entirely, forcing Sans to carefully step his way through the awful mess covering it - over crumpled papers, scattered laundry articles and other detritus - in his path to the bed.

It’s kind of disappointing, really. Papy’s room was  _ almost _ what he’d consider clean three days ago, and now it’s already a total disaster area again. Sans feels a little guilty that he wasn’t a bit faster on the trigger to at least get the sheets cleaned before his brother had suddenly decided to sleep. He has his work cut out for him when he comes back from his patrol tomorrow; it’ll probably take a couple hours to tidy all of this back up to standard.

Unconcerned with all of this as always, his brother is sleeping peacefully in his bed, face buried in one of his three pillows, the other two having been relocated to the other side of the room. Sans sets the glass on the ash-covered nightstand - he’d have to remind Papy tomorrow to go outside to smoke - and pulls up the blankets around his brother’s shoulders, tucking him in as he does.

No matter what happened the previous night and despite his panic from earlier this morning, he can’t find it in him to be  _ too _ angry at Papy. After all, his brother had definitely been coerced into it by that  _ cad _ , and so there’s no way Sans can blame him for what had occurred. However, not even leaving him so much as a by-the-way was still pretty upsetting.

Sans pauses that train of thought when he hears a muffled beep from under his brother’s pillow, and a little fishing produces Papy’s new phone. The newest version from the Labs is a flat rectangle instead of a flip, with a huge touch screen and a small green, flashing light that probably meant his brother had an unread text message. He glares at it disdainfully before he places it screen-up on the nightstand.

There’s no way either of them could have afforded something like that, so it was obviously a bribe from Crim. Of course, Crim  _ did _ owe Papy a new phone after dragging him through the Dump - and leaving those slimy, unsalvageable clothes in the living room, honestly - but shamelessly utilizing that as an avenue to get at his brother? He suppresses a renewed surge of aggravation towards Crim as he exits the room, because  _ of course _ that’s how it is; it’s always that way with Crim.

He leaves the door open a crack to help it vent overnight. He’s not worried about Papy waking up, really. He knows quite well that his brother could probably sleep through anything less than a bucket of ice water to the face.There’s no use dwelling on it now, he tries to tell himself. He’ll just have to talk with Crim tomorrow and try to do some damage control. For now, he has a nice dinner to return to and a pleasant, quiet evening to look forward to.

With that in mind, he returns to the dinner table and finds that his sandwich, much like his anger, is almost cold.

* * *

When the next balmy Snowdin day rolls around, Sans doesn’t bother waking his brother up. His Tuesday shift as a sentry starts three hours later than Monday, and it’s habitual that Papy sleeps right up until the point where he absolutely needs to get up anyway.

That’s why it’s not at all odd that, three hours into his shift at the very cusp of the afternoon, his phone starts ringing. He gives a parting wave to Rent’s older sibling, Aaron, at his sentry station and flips his phone open. He doesn’t bother to check the ID on the little screen before he accepts the call.

“Good morning, Papy!” he says with his usual perkiness. Everything had actually been going pretty well so far today, so most of it is genuine. “Did you sleep well?”

“Uh, wouldn’t say he did,” comes a rough, very un-Papy-like voice from the phone.

Surprised, Blue stops in his tracks, crunching to a halt in the snow. He checks the name at the top of the call before putting the phone back to the side of his head. “Crim?”

“Who were you expectin’, the rabbit? Yeah, it’s me. Look, your bro-”

“What happened?” he interrupts, a spike of panic shooting through him as his mind immediately jumps to worst case scenarios. Before Crim can continue, he turns towards home, already setting a quick pace back to the house. “Is Papy okay? Is he hurt? Did he do something? What-”

“Shut up and I’ll tell ya,” Crim interrupts, sounding annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” Sans is quick to apologize, his voice pitching up in distress. “It’s just, Papy can be so  _ frail _ and I’m  _ worried _ -”

“Yeah, I get it,” Crim interjects again, though this time his words are followed by a sigh. “So, he’s sick. Guy’s burnin’ up on the couch. I got him comfortable but I dunno what you guys use here for meds, or if you even got what he needs.”

Sans’ sockets go blank as he processes this, but he doesn’t stop moving. His boots keep digging into the snow, kicking it behind him as he runs. Papy’s sick?  _ Burning up? _ Burning through his miniscule reservoir of magic? He can feel his soul fearfully stuttering in his chest at the connotations of that. How long had his brother been sick? He should have checked on him this morning when he got up. He should have known that there was something going on last night when Papy passed out so early...

“Fuck, the connection shit out on me?” he can hear Crim grumbling distantly before his voice gets louder again. “Hey Blue, ya still there?”

“Y-yeah I’m here,” Sans pipes up, unable to keep the concern out of his voice. “I’m coming home! Don’t do anything just- just make sure- just don’t do anything!”

He snaps the phone closed before Crim can respond, turning his brisk jog into his fastest sprint. In the painful amount of time it takes for him to get from the western side of the icy cave to the first sighting of Snowdin’s wooden welcome sign, Sans wracks his skull. It’s been so long since anyone in the household had gotten anything worse than a headache, and he doesn’t remember if they have any medication at home to combat both a fever as well as rapid magical consumption.

In his uncertainty, he makes a last-second stop at the store, startling Doggo out of his light snooze at the counter. He’s inside only long enough to grab a box of stabilizers before he’s running back out into the cold, his whirl of motion causing every single paper bangle hanging above his path to rotate wildly.

“It’sanemergencyI’llpayyoulaterIpromisesorry!” he calls behind him in one breath as the door closes on a very confused Doggo.

Clasping the important little box securely to his chest while he runs, he’s at the door to the house less than two minutes later, puffing for breath as he wrenches open the handle.

“Holy shit, that was fast,” comes Crim’s surprised voice from the direction of the couch. He keeps talking as Sans forcibly ignores both him and the wet, dirty tracks his boots are making on the clean carpet. “I was gonna come get ya, but you kinda hung up on me before I could ask where the hell you were.”

He even doesn’t spare the slightly taller skeleton a glance, only having eyes for Papy. His poor, sick brother is lying lengthwise along the couch, wrapped up in a light blanket, and his head and neck are propped up on a couple of pillows at an inclined angle against the armrest. The bright amber color of his magic coats his face, and there’s a slightly damp washcloth resting above a pained, exhausted expression.

Sans wedges himself onto the edge of the couch cushions besides Papy, placing the little box of stabilizers on his lap and pulling off his gloves.

“Hey Papy,” he murmurs quietly as he places a gentle hand on his brother’s cheek. His brow knits in worry when the light touch confirms Crim’s earlier observation: he’s definitely running a fever. That’s concerning in and of itself, but it’s the fact that he’s unconscious that scares Sans the most.

He finally looks up at Crim, who hasn’t moved from his looming, leaning position against the side of the armrest. “At what time did you notice he was sick and when did he fall asleep?” Sans says, adopting a no-nonsense tone. 

The other skeleton has his arms crossed, sporting a frown that isn’t quite a scowl as his gaze flicks between the two of them and then the clock on the wall. “Must’a been forty minutes ago by now when he nearly dusted his ass on the stairs. Kinda figured that wasn’t normal, and when I went to give him a hand, I noticed he was burnin’ up. He passed out about twenty minutes ago, just before I called ya.”

Sans looks down at Papy, and they’re both silent for a moment as Sans thinks, but Crim breaks the quiet before long.

“Haven’t seen him sick since I got here,” Crim says slowly, and when Sans looks up again, Crim’s frown and eyelights are directed at the front windows of the house. “Not like this, anyway. Whatever. He goes from a hundred to zero real quick, huh? I was gonna ask-”

Sans sighs, trying to concentrate through Crim’s grumbling speech and running a sympathetic thumb over the top of his brother’s skull. He can’t get Papy to take any of the stabilizers while he’s unconscious; he’ll choke. Okay, if he can just get his brother to wake up for a minute and take one with some tea, then he’ll feel a whole lot better about this situation. But in the meantime, he needs to make sure Papy’s HP is stable, and that means… it means he needs to...

“Shut up!” Sans snaps up at Crim, startling the other into silence. “I literally can’t think while you’re talking! If you want to help, go make some ginger tea, okay?”

Crim’s frown takes a turn downward into that all-too-familiar scowl that Sans is used to dealing with. The other takes a deep breath before he manages an annoyed-sounding “I did.” He makes an open-handed gesture at the side table on the opposite side of the couch. Sans looks in that direction and spies a single, chipped coffee mug. “I got him to drink a little before he conked, but not much.”

Sans is admittedly surprised, but doesn’t let his face betray any of it. “Well, did you put any honey in it?” he counters instead.

“What?” Crim says, somehow looking simultaneously confused and offended. “No.”

“Then that’s why,” Sans says, rolling his eyes. “He doesn’t drink bitter stuff. Stir two spoonfuls of honey in it and he’ll drink the rest.” When all Crim does is stare down at Papy for the next couple of seconds, Sans’ annoyance spikes. “Well? I’ll do it myself if you’re just going to stand there.”

Thankfully, that gets Crim to move, and Sans pretends he doesn’t hear the muttered “you’re welcome, asshole” under the other’s breath on his way out of the room.

The moment Crim steps around the corner, Sans places a hand over his brother’s chest and focuses. It takes all of his concentration to use this magic - Papy had always been better at this than him - and there’s no way he could have performed a Judgement with Crim’s constant grousing in the background. Even still, it takes him a fairly long time since he has to encroach on Papy’s delicate soul with a huge amount of care.

His magic only brushes the surface, but in doing so still gains enough detail to see that Papy, while sick, isn’t in any immediate danger. His brother’s magic levels are low, sure, but it isn’t close to affecting his abysmal HP total at all. He releases the magic, but his immediate flood of relief is punctuated by the soft ‘tink tink’ of bone on ceramic.

He doesn’t look over, but he can see Crim’s dark expression from across the room out of the corner of his eyelights.

Despite Crim keeping his distance from the doorway of the kitchen, he can still feel the other’s eyelights on him, the disapproving stare fixated on the back of his neck burning like a brand. The silent judgement of his Judgement bothers him far more than it should, and on top of the anxiety contorting his soul, it’s almost too much to bear.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snaps up at Crim when he can’t take it anymore, his voice thick with emotion. “I-I don’t want to do it, but I have to! Papy only has one HP,” he blurts out defensively. “I have to know-”

Crim’s sockets go wide with enough horror to match his own. Some of the tea slops out of the mug he’s holding as he lurches forward a step. “He only has one HP left!?” he shouts.

Sans is taken aback by the severity of Crim’s reaction, momentarily forgetting his own guilty conscious in his confusion. “Yes, but-”

“But _ how _ ?” Crim exclaims, his eyelights darting between Sans and Papy’s faces. “He- he’s sick, yeah, sure, but there wasn’t anythin’...” Crim’s eyelights finally make up their mind and lock on Sans’ own. “He’s just got a Stars-damned fever, right?”

That’s when it clicks for Sans. It’s impossible to fake the kind of fear he sees on Crim’s face and in his straight-backed posture - he simply doesn’t  _ know _ . Despite being confusing, considering the other night, the knowledge that Papy hadn’t trusted Crim with  _ all _ of his secrets is comforting in a way; it shows that Crim and Papy’s relationship wasn’t as far along as he’d thought it was. On the other hand, it also peeves him a little. This is definitely something Crim should have known if they were getting intimate.

“He didn’t tell you?” Sans says, keeping the touch of smugness out of his voice. “I’d have thought, after th-the… the whole… you know-”

“No, I  _ don’t _ fuckin’ know, and that’s why I’m asking,” Crim says, trading his fearful expression for an irritated one.

Sans looks between Crim and and his brother uncertainly before sighing. He’d already said too much anyway. “He only  _ ever _ has one HP,” he explains quietly, and Crim’s shrunken eyelights immediately fixate on Papy’s face. “Getting sick is never a simple thing for him because of that.”

“It’s been months and he never said,” Crim mutters to himself, expression unreadable.

“Here, give me that,” Sans says, reaching out a hand for the mug. Crim obliges almost mechanically, wiping the wet side of the mug on the sleeve of his jacket before handing it over. “Not too many people know how bad it is,” he continues, “so don’t take it too personally. Papy never wanted people to to feel sorry for him or treat him like he had a handicap… though he kind of does.”

Crim sits further down on the couch next to Papy’s feet and leans forward with his elbows on his knees, staring into the carpeting like it has all the answers _.  _ “But… But  _ how _ ?” he asks again, seemingly muttering more to himself than actually asking Sans. “He’s never even  _ implied _ that he had that defect.”

“Defect?”

Sans’ voice seems to have penetrated whatever was going through the other’s mind, because Crim suddenly looks up from his intense focus on the carpet to eye Sans like he’s spontaneously contracted stupidity. “ _ Yes _ , the birth defect!” he all but shouts.

Sans’ confusion returns. “It’s not a birth defect. He’s sick.”

“Then the fever is doing it?! What the fuck?” 

“Shh,” Sans shushes him harshly, glancing at Papy. Surprisingly, this works; what amounts to an apologetic look crosses Crim’s face, and he shuts his mouth. “It’s his depression that’s doing it, not the fever.” Sans says in the ensuing quiet.

“What? It can do that?” Despite being noticeably lower in volume, there’s no less anxiety in Crim’s voice.

“Why do you think monsters who lose hope Fall Down?” Sans asks, raising a brow at Crim.

“Because their magic production slows too much…?” The way Crim trails off his statement tells Sans everything he needs to know, and he sighs.

Sans places the stabilizers around the side of the couch, the mug in their place on his lap, and begins idly fluffing up Papy’s pillows and tucking in the blanket around his chest a bit more securely _.  _ “Sure, it’s that, but because it slows down, their souls try to fight off death,” he explains patiently. “So they sacrifice a bit of HP every time they get close to Falling, giving them a boost. And eventually, they all reach 1 and that’s when they Fall. Papy’s been that way for a long time now,” Sans finishes somberly.

“I-I didn’t… I had no idea…” Crim whispers before trailing off into silence, looking almost physically sick.

“Of course you don’t,” he says, shrugging. “You’ve never had to take care of someone as sick as Papy.” It’s only an assumption, but between Crim’s reactions and lack of knowledge about the subject, he’s almost entirely certain that he’s right. This guess is only substantiated when Crim leans a bit further forward and places his face in his hands. There’s a soft, distressed noise that sneaks its way out from between the other skeleton’s fingers.

“But you know how fragile he is,” he realizes as he remembers Crim’s first day with them and the Judge Sans performed to make sure he wasn’t in danger. He watches Crim take deep, long breaths to calm himself as he thinks back. “Because you had 1 HP once,” he finishes. Crim must have lived a portion of his life like that: fragile, vulnerable, afraid. In a world like Crim’s, with other people used to acting the same way Crim does, Sans can easily imagine how much harder it would be to survive like that. Maybe… Maybe that’s why Crim has LV, Sans thinks. Because he couldn’t stand living like that anymore. “So, yours is a defect?”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Crim stops moving. He sits frozen for several long moments before his hands fall away. The look in his eyes when they meet Sans’ is almost enough to make him duck his head, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stares Crim down, refusing to break under a gaze that feels like it could snap his neck easily if it were a physical entity. Unable to keep completely still, his hands trace their way over the mug in his lap with soft scraping sounds.

After almost a minute, Crim finally speaks, his words low and emotionless. “I was born too early.” He doesn’t elaborate, or look away. He just lets the words hover in the air between them, but Sans doesn’t need him to explain to understand. He knows what Crim means thanks to a few long talks with Gerson. For the first time in a long while, he feels a potent surge of sympathy for the other, but he has no idea how to express it.

He holds Crim’s intense gaze for another few seconds before he breaks it, turning his attention to the washcloth on his brother’s forehead instead. A quick temperature test with a few fingers finds that it’s already just as warm as the rest of Papy’s body, and therefore needs to be changed.

“I’ll be right back,” Sans tells him as he stands, plucking up the washcloth and the tea mug, and bringing them both with him to the kitchen along with his thoughts. The cold water from the sink on his bare hands helps gives clarity to the emotion in his thoughts, and he takes his time about rinsing out the cloth and wringing it until it isn’t dripping anymore.

Premature monsters are few and far between, but to be so premature that you only have one HP… Something must have gone terribly wrong. It’s sad to think that Crim’s family had to suffer through that sort of tragedy. Sans only knows the terror of watching over an adult that fragile and the constant worry he always carries in his soul when Papy isn’t with him. He always feels sick when he leaves, even after all this time. The thought of not being there if Papy needs him, not being able to shield him with his magic if he trips or stabilize his soul if he Falls again... It never gets easier. 

He can’t imagine what taking care of a child like that would feel like. It must be a hundred times worse.

When he moves back to the living room a couple minutes later, he catches Crim in the act of looking away from Papy, his face once again covered by that unreadable mask.

“Slick doesn’t deserve this,” Crim mutters darkly as Sans sits back down and replaces the washcloth. “He’s too fuckin’ nice to have to deal with this shit.”

“He really doesn’t,” Sans agrees, feeling the usual urge to reprimand Crim for cursing, but he squashes the desire just this once. “No one does.” 

After that, they both sink into their own thoughts. Sans’ circulate around his brother, as they always do. The myriad ways Papy could have gotten this sick bubble up in his mind, and his eyelights rapidly trace the colorful zigzags of the carpet as he tries to figure out the cause. Though he racks his brain for a list of scenarios for what might have happened, he instead gets a montage of how much worse this could have been, each imaginative instance being worse than the last.

“What’s with the long face?” comes Crim’s voice, momentarily halting that line of thought.

“What?” 

Crim points a finger at one of his own eyelights. “Why’re ya looking like you’re gonna blow a gasket any second now?” 

“It’s nothing,” Sans lies, doing a poor job of trying to shelve his thoughts. With Papy lying right beside him, it’s hard.

“Doesn’t look like it, but what the fuck would I know, right?”

Sans sighs at the subtle bitterness in Crim’s tone before trying to find a voice for his concern. “I just… I don’t understand how this could happen, that’s all,” he gently places a hand on Papy’s shoulder. “I make sure to keep the house dry and insulated. I  _ know _ I just checked the windows in his room, so there’s no way that’s where the leak is. But a fever this bad… He must have been soaked and  _ freezing _ , but he... he seemed _ fine _ yesterday, if a little tired. How could I possibly have known?” he says, wringing his hands in his lap unhappily, his concerns spilling out of him freely. “He goes to sleep early often enough that two nights in a row isn’t a big deal. I guess I just don’t understand why he would do something like that without talking to me. He knows how dangerous it is for him to get sick. Maybe… maybe it was because he was mad at me,” Sans says a bit more quietly, nearly on the verge of tears. “I got after him because of the whole thing with his phone and… and maybe I pushed him too hard, and he didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with the house,” Crim says, and when Sans turns to look, he’s privy to Crim’s usual closeted expression cracking into guilty lines around the edges of his eyes. “He was havin’ an off day. He showed up in the middle of the fuckin’ blizzard with no magic in him and freezing his ass off at my door, so I dried him off and let him stay.”

Sans can’t believe what he’s hearing. “He  _ what _ ?”

“I didn’t know how bad he was or I would’a told ya,” Crim mumbles, immediately getting defensive. “I thought he’d be fine when his magic kicked in, but I didn’t account for the”—he pauses for a noticeable fraction of a second—“for his HP.”

“So you… didn’t... sleep together…?” Sans says, stretching out the last two words for effect.

“Well, yeah we-” he cuts himself off when the meaning of Sans’ words dawn on him. “Wait. What?!” he exclaims, his voice rising two pitches in the process. “No! Fuuuuck no,” he says, instantly bringing his shoulders up and waving his hands in the empty air between them. “Yeah sure we slept in the same bed, but that was the only thing that happened! Th’fuck… Hell no, what the shit gave you that idea?”

“You were all tangled up and he was wearing your shirt!” Sans is quick to say in his own defense, feeling his cheeks burn with his magic. “What was I  _ supposed _ to think?”

“No it-” Crim is quick to deny, but a pause combined with a flicking of his eyelights towards the other side of the room seems to change his mind. “Fuck, okay, yeah,” he says, muttering the words under his breath, “now that I think about it, it did kinda look like that.”

“Yeah… it kind of did,” Sans parrots, feeling a conflicting turmoil of relief and annoyance in his soul directed at the other skeleton. An awkward silence begins to settle between them after that, and Sans rolls the edge of a pillowcase between his fingers as he thinks. He can see that Crim, out of the corner of his eye, has his sockets trained on the clock across the room.

Now that he knows the truth of the situation, a voice in the back of his head tells him he should be grateful to Crim for helping Papy when he’d needed it. However, the more insistent one at the forefront of his mind reminds him of the fact that if Crim had done as he’d asked a week ago, then his brother would have come to  _ him _ instead, and this whole thing could have been avoided. So many things could have gone wrong that night because Crim  _ didn’t know _ , but still, he had  _ saved Papy _ , and that counted for something.

“Crim,” Sans starts, trying to force the words out, “I, um… thank you. For helping Papy.”

Even he isn’t sure if he sounds genuinely grateful, at least he’d tried.

When Crim doesn’t do anything but shrug in response without even looking at him, the awkward silence between the two of them grows thicker. A few seconds in, he decides to break it before it can get any worse. “Um, I’m going to go outside and call Al so someone else can finish my shift, and then you can leave, okay?”

When no response is immediately forthcoming, Sans hops off the couch again and gets halfway to the door before Crim stops him with a blurted “Wait.” When he turns around, he finds Crim standing with his hands stuffed deeply into his jacket pockets, his eyelights stuck on his socked feet. At first he won’t meet Sans’ gaze, but once he looks up, Crim holds it in an almost stubborn way. The confidence he tries to fake is easy to see through.

“I want to help,” Crim announces.

Sans honestly hadn’t expected that, and he’s sure his astonishment is obvious because Crim is quick to add, “I don’t have fuck all to do today anyway; you can finish your shift and then take over. I know ya get off around five, it ain’t that long.”

At this, Sans’ surprise quickly morphs into protectiveness. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into Crim, but there is no way he’s going to let the other watch over his sick brother by himself. “You  _ already _ helped,” Sans points out, his words quick and sharp. “He’s comfortable because of you, and I appreciate that, but I can take it from here.”

Something changes between them. It’s like the air grows heavier, weighing down on his shoulders. As he watches Crim’s face smoothen out, all emotion bleeding out of his expression, Sans realizes too late that he messed up. It was fleeting, like a ghost trapped in a phantom storm, but it was there: a glimpse behind the many walls Crim keeps around himself, and for the briefest of moments, Sans saw  _ him _ . But as if by a snap of his fingers, the walls shoots up around Crim again, ripping away the olive branch he had extended. It happens so fast and Sans feels the sting of regret poke hard at his soul.

The regret is quickly squashed the moment Crim opens his mouth again, however. “You don’t trust me with him, do you?” Crim asks. The deadpan stare he’s facing now is one Sans has seen many times - it means that the other won’t believe a thing he says, but Sans intends to try anyway. 

He closes his eyes, pinches two fingers on his nasal ridge, and takes a deep breath before he speaks. “It’s not that, it’s just… it’s not your problem and you wouldn’t know what to do if things got worse, that’s all.” He looks up. “You literally know next to nothing about his condition,” he says bluntly.

The walls grow thicker around Crim, but his anger easily slips past the cracks in them. “And _ I _ literally just told you I do!” Crim responds, his hands leaving the warmth of his pockets to gesture aggressively at Sans. All Crim’s response does is piss Sans off, and suddenly he can’t believe he almost fell for Crim’s dirty trick.  _ Of course _ it was a trick. He was stupid to think for even a second that Crim might hold a sliver of empathy for others. 

“You have _no_ _idea_ what it’s like to be on the other side of this!” Sans fires right back. “You might know what it feels like to _be_ like Papy, but you don’t know _anything_ about taking care of someone like him.”

“You don’t-”

In the face of Crim’s attempt at rebuttal, any sympathy lingering in Sans evaporates in an instant. “ _ NO,”  _ he says in a voice that seems to fill the whole room, effectively cutting the other off. “You have  _ never _ experienced fear like the one I live with! When he's like this, even the tiniest mistake could end him. If I  _ breathe _ wrong he might dust and you have no idea what it's like having to watch your brother break apart like I did. So don't you  _ dare _ pretend you have any authority to tell me what to do or what to think.”

He takes a moment to collect himself, reign in his anger and  _ breathe _ through it before it can consume him. Although the fire in his soul lessens its hold, its flames still lick against his mind, soaking his thoughts in a poisonous burn. He can’t help himself from driving the wedge between them as far down as it will go, and once the decision is made, he can’t even feel sorry. Crim doesn’t deserve his kindness. 

“Congratulations,” he mocks, making an invisible arch with his hands, “you’re right! I _DON’T_ trust you with my brother's life and _I_ _never will_.”

When Crim opens his mouth a second time, Sans performs an abrupt heel turn and marches right out the door to call Alphys.

“This conversation is over,” he throws over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him with finality.

* * *

It takes almost a week for Papy to get better. Long hours bleed into long days and Sans stays by his bedside, ready to help if he’s needed, and shooing away Crim’s cat whenever she comes up to investigate. The book he keeps open on his lap does little to distract his mind, and after hours of listening to the deafening noise of his own thoughts, Sans starts to read out loud.

It’s a story of a warrior that battles his way through endless monsters and countless trials to free his beloved from an evil villain. He has read the story many times but never truly understood its appeal. He realized after a long time and many re-reads that it didn’t matter what the story was about; it was the fact that someone told it that gave it power. And so Sans lets its power flow, speaking the words without really understanding them, just to fill the silence around him and quiet the noise inside him. 

On the second day, Papy wakes up. The toll the fever took on his body and mind leaves him weak, and he’s confused and disoriented at first, but Sans is there to talk him through it, like always. Once Papy’s mind sharpens and his brother no longer needs him to remain present in the moment, Sans easily shifts into the role of caretaker. It’s comforting, familiar; a role he’s played many times before, and one he’s good at. Papy is slow to recover, sleeping away the days for most of a week, but after the first time he tries to sneak out under the guise of a smoke break, Sans is quick to make him promise to wait to leave the house until he can stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. When he isn’t sewing within sight of Papy, he spends much of his time at the house deep cleaning everything he can find, even going so far as moving the various kitchen appliances to mop beneath them. As the week draws to a close on a nigh-spotless house, the new one rises on Papy’s ability to stay awake during the daylight hours. A promising, last Judgement on brother’s magic levels show that they’re close to their ‘satisfactory’ amount, and Sans takes this as a sign that things are ready to return to normal.

The next day, with great relief, Sans goes back to work. His everyday routine feels like an old friend, and it’s satisfying to slip back into the comfort of the well-known. He throws himself back into the regular, and his schedule keeps him busy and focused, the fear and anger evaporating as Papy regains his strength. Before long, they completely dry out, leaving behind only the dusting of unease that has followed him everywhere since the first time his brother Fell.

It’s another week later that he wakes on a slow Friday to the dim light of the Snowdin crystals flittering through the curtains in his room. He’s only dimly aware when a soft song starts playing from an alarm clock on the nearby nightstand at the usual 8AM wakeup time.  Also, as per usual, he ignores it, instead groaning softly and smothering his face deeper into the pillow he’s grappling with.

His short-lived snooze ends exactly five minutes later when the rest of the mechanism kicks in. With a  _ tink _ ,  _ thunk _ , and a series of muted whirs, the blinds are pulled wide open, exposing the dark room to the brilliant white light reflected off of the freshly fallen snow outside. With a grumble, Sans stuffs his head beneath the pillow, but there’s no hiding from the world when the covers are also snatched off of him, dangling out of his reach in the air above the foot of his bed.

He groans again in protest, curling into a defiant ball for a few seconds before the gentle chill of the room penetrates through his flimsy cotton shirt and pants and tickles the bones underneath.

Finally succumbing to the cold, he slips off the mattress and blearily presses a button on the alarm, turning off the music and setting off another, louder series of whirs and clicks from various parts of the room. As he marches to the closet, the whole bed folds up against the wall behind him, and the covers - a pleasing patterning of cyans and blue-greens - move on tracks embedded in the ceiling to hang compactly just off to the side.

Without looking, he turns a dial situated just outside the closet’s doorframe and then presses it down before turning the doorknob. The friendly hum of well-oiled mechanical motion greets him the moment the door is opened, displaying a number of hangers upon which rest sets of neatly hung clothes that glide within arm’s reach. Despite the early morning grogginess, Sans takes a moment to feel pride at the sight. Not only had the machine had no hiccups in weeks, but it soothes his primal need for organization to see the clothes in perfect color order. Not that he owns a whole rainbow of outfits - honestly, many of the warmer colors aren’t that flattering on him - but the ones he does are fairly varied in terms of both practical and stylistic use. As well, he’s personally altered a few of them, and to good effect if he does say so himself.

However, the one he picks today is fairly simple in design, mirrored by three additional sets all nestled beside it. The soft, thick cotton shirt and pants are mostly gray with light blue trimming (his own additions, reflecting his magic color), bearing a distinguishing set of white patches on the outer left hip and sleeve. Emblazoned with a simplified royal symbol, they prominently display his status as a lower-ranking Snowdin Guardsman, matching perfectly with the framed, official certificate on his wall.

It doesn’t take him long to dress, and he opens a drawer-like chute in the wall next to the closet which leads down to the laundry room. Into it go the used nightclothes, disappearing down the shaft as he tucks his shirt into his belt with his thumbs to hold it there. From his nightstand he plucks up his trademark stain-resistant gloves, and while he pulls them into place and presses them comfortably into the little valleys between his fingers, he eyes the now-vertical bottom of his bed contemplatively.

On the underside resides a collection of bandannas neatly folded into little triangles and placed in secure fabric pockets, arranged in such a way that a corner from each sticks out to denote its place in the rainbow of organization. He’s a little less picky with these than the rest of his wardrobe, having all sorts of colors and patterns available to choose from. Today, he picks a smooth purple with black and white checkering, shaking it out and tying it on expertly.

After a quick check in the wall-mounted mirror to make sure everything’s in order, his eyelights sweep over the many other framed images in the room, all finished multi-thousand piece puzzles that he’d completed with Papy over the years. He corrects a minute crookedness in one of them before his gaze falls on his comparatively messy computer desk. Packed with loose sheafs of paper, various doodads he hadn’t found a place for and other scattered small trinkets, he can’t stare at it for too long without feeling the familiar itch in his fingers to clean it, but he restrains himself. Telling himself that he doesn’t have time right now, he promises once again that he’ll get around to it later today or tomorrow since he was too tired yesterday with all the catch up documentation to worry about it. Instead, as he heads out, he glances at the shelves lined with painstakingly reconstructed robots as a distraction from the urge. They’re all glorious tributes to past Mech Warriors events, and the sight never fails to make him smile, odd as some of their past attempts look to him now. Each one holds a different set of memories that are intertwined with the many good times he’d shared in their construction with Alphys. It bolsters his resolve to take on the final day of the dwindling week, especially knowing how excitingly close the next competition is.

With that squarely in mind, he happily exits his room, quietly closing it behind him, and quickly pokes his head into Papy’s. Reassured by the sight of his brother still peacefully sleeping away, he makes his way downstairs to the kitchen. However, the sight of Crim’s cat sprawled out like a russet log on one of the arms of the couch confuses him. Both Crim and cat are usually long gone by the time he wakes.

Even more surprisingly, Crim himself is already at the kitchen table when he enters, nursing a cup of tea and seemingly unaware of his presence… or anything else in the world if his vacant expression is anything to judge by. He hadn’t seen much of the other skeleton in the past two weeks, and Sans takes in his dim eyelights and utterly exhausted appearance for a moment. A distant echo of concern is easy to squash as he crosses to the fridge, deciding on an omelette and toast this morning. While he sets out the ingredients and turns on the oven burner, he finally rebels against the increasingly pervasive silence.

“Long night?” he asks with an air of indifference as he starts cracking eggs into the pan.

It takes a full seven seconds of the words languishing in the air before he’s answered with an incredibly gravelly, “Somethin’ like that.” Crim doesn’t even look up when Sans turns back to glance at him, instead staring into the depths of the mug clutched between his hands. When Crim says nothing else, Sans makes a noncommittal sound in his throat and turns back to his cooking. In the relative quiet of the kitchen, his thoughts turn inward, gravitating towards the upcoming competition as he flavors the eggs with cheese, chives, and a pinch of pepper.

The last weekend before the event is coming upon them, and the little tosser bot they’re been working on for months only needs a few more adjustments before it’s ready for the arena. He wonders if Al has the kinks in the code worked out yet - last time they’d ran it through one of the autopath commands, it had scooped a small hole into Al’s wall instead of staying within their practice ring. He also still thinks it would do better with less sensitivity on the sensor. He’d have to bring that up with her again later.

All throughout breakfast, Crim doesn’t move or speak at all, continuing to stare blankly at his mug as if it holds all the answers in the universe. If the other hadn’t been so out of it, Sans might have found it much more awkward eating a silent breakfast at the table, but Crim is so deep into his oblivious state that it’s almost as if he isn’t across from Sans at all. In fact, it’s only after he puts away the other half of his omelette in the fridge for Papy and starts rinsing the dishes off in the sink that the noise seems to stir Crim from his stupor.

“Shit,” comes the apathetic curse from Crim’s direction, and a glance that way shows the other staring at his phone like it had personally offended him.

“No cursing,” Sans says automatically, ignoring the unintelligible sleepy griping in the background in favor of snagging a pen and post-it pad from a drawer. He scribbles a quick note and attaches it to the fridge for Papy, making sure it sticks. Hopefully he’ll see it today and not head straight to the Cafe. Again. His brother has always been terrible at eating well, and especially since his recent fever, Sans has been trying extra hard to make sure there’s always something healthy in the kitchen that he can reheat. He debates with himself before he decides to put the toaster away, just in case. Papy hasn’t accidentally burned toast in a good while (how his brother had even managed that is beyond him), but Sans isn’t taking any chances today.

It’s not long after that he’s lacing up his boots up at the door with practiced motion and shutting it behind him. When it’s opened again almost immediately, Sans casts a glance over his shoulder. None other than Crim is shuffling out of the door, the tip of his boot catching on one of the unaligned floorboards. He manages to catch himself in the last second, but Sans hears the deep rumble of a curse being muttered. Instead of calling him out on it, Sans just turns around with a shake of his head. It’s not even ten seconds later he realizes that Crim is following him. 

Well, ‘following’ is a strong word. Crim is following him only in the sense that snow thrown into a river follows the current: they’re both flowing in the same direction, albeit Crim with considerably less enthusiasm. Sans can hear the dragging of the other’s boots, the toes scraping against the ground. Crim is  _ exhausted _ and, judging from the occasional stuttering misstep he can hear behind him, also not paying much attention to where he’s going. From long experience, Sans knows he’s on his way to Muffet’s, a daily ritual which continues to feel like a slap in the face. In the first couple of months into Crim’s stay, Sans had taken time out of his day to make a healthy breakfast for the whole household instead of just Papy and himself, but either impatience or self-importance on the third skeleton’s part had eventually taken him elsewhere. Aside from Sans’ pride in his cooking being snubbed, it wouldn’t be so bad... except that he’d noticed a worrying trend of Papy following a similar inclination to skip out on breakfast lately. He just  _ knows _ there’s some sort of correlation there, and it’s another black mark on Sans’ growing list of grievances towards the other.

Movement ahead catches his attention, and his eyelights flicker to an energetic GD happily helping LD shovel snow away from Doggo’s storefront. It’s terrible and he shouldn’t even acknowledge it, but a nasty thought announces itself with a rush of excitement as he picks up his pace, letting Crim’s sluggish footsteps fade behind the much louder thuds and splats of the two’s shovelling efforts.

Crim might not have remembered all the details of that first day so many months ago, but Sans had  _ definitely _ noticed Crim’s reaction to GD’s greeting. It’s bad, so, so bad, but the idea is already taking shape in his mind and it’s  _ perfect _ . He’s been trying to figure out how to force Crim out of their lives without Papy suffering too much because of it, but maybe… maybe it’s not about Sans telling Crim to leave, but making Crim  _ want _ to leave.

The intensity of the eureka moment sends a shiver down his spine that rattles all the way down to his boots. If Crim leaves of his own accord, Papy will still be sad - at this point there’s no getting around _ that _ inevitable fallout - but Sans would be able to comfort him with the fact that Crim would be back where he could be at his happiest. Which will be true...

Because, in the meantime, Sans will be busy making Crim’s existence a living hell.

He shoots a furtive glance over his shoulder to make sure Crim is out of earshot before slapping on his brightest smile and calling out a perky, “Good morning, guys!”

The two light up at his greeting, but GD, true to his nature, seems just as absolutely ecstatic to see him as every other morning. Well, no changing his mind now. “Hey, where’s my hug?” At the promise of affection, GD snaps his body around and immediately starts running towards him the second he sees Sans open his arms. It’s a mere moment later that he finds himself lifted up in a crushing, flannel-covered embrace.

Hindered by sloppy, affectionate licks and a distinct lack of arm length, can barely reach behind GD’s ears, but the moment he does, the suited dog monster releases him and flops blissfully onto the snow on his side.

Sans laughs, finding his feet and crouching next to him conspiratorially as he rubs a favored spot behind GD’s left ear. “Aw, are you already tired? I know someone who could really use some kisses today,” he nearly sing-songs. GD’s eyes practically light up, a couple of vibrant, almond-brown beacons. “He’s been kind of down lately and he’d really enjoy some.” Sans nods towards Crim and GD’s entire being seems to zero in on him instantly, his whole form practically trembling with excitement. Little jerks of his muzzle between Sans and Crim’s shuffling figure almost seems like he’s asking permission.

“Go on,” Sans encourages him, and that seems to be all the go-ahead he needs, because the ensuing scramble of large dog monster leaves huge ruts of snow that spray back at Sans as the other practically flies off the ground.

Sans can only watch in awe as GD, like some kind of Crim-seeking missile, bounds towards his intended target with absolutely reckless enthusiasm. The other skeleton doesn’t even seem to register the dog monster’s presence until the freight train of fur, leather and rustic flannel is practically on top of him.

Sans stifles a vindictive laugh with one of his gloves as Crim’s surprised yell is similarly muffled via a smothering hug. Crim’s struggling is hilarious for all of five seconds before he somehow wedges his arms between their bodies.

“Get the  _ hell _ off me!” Sans looks on in alarm as Crim forcefully  _ shoves _ GD away with a solid push to the chest. When they come apart, GD is unprepared and loses his footing on the freshly shovelled, thinner sheen of snow on the main road through town. He hits the ground  _ hard, _ and a pained whine escapes him as he tumbles backwards out of the robotic suit.

A confused yip from LD behind him snaps Sans out of his horrified trance, and his feet start moving almost of their own accord towards the disaster in progress.

Crim fares better than the dog monster, sticking his footing on the landing and immediately placing himself between GD and the work-oriented prosthetic. A much smaller monster than Crim without the suit, GD curls in on himself, looking between the safety beyond Crim’s boots and the skeleton’s looming form with flattened ears and terrified eyes.

Crim opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t get the chance thanks to a none-too-gentle shove from Sans that nearly seems to knock him off his feet. He skips a few steps before regaining his balance with a loud, “Th’fuck!?”

“What is  _ wrong _ with you?!” he snaps at Crim. “He just wanted to say hello! Hey GD,” Sans says, his tone effortlessly shifting from indignant to comforting, “are you okay?” He drops to a knee, and immediately GD is in his arms, whining up a storm about all of the trauma the last minute had caused him. He feels terrible for GD - he hadn’t expected Crim’s reaction to be so violent or he would never have tried to involve the little dog monster in his plans.

“ _ He _ jumped  _ me! _ ” Crim defends, gesturing between himself and the little monster in Sans’ arms, and a dissatisfied meow from inside his jacket seems to back up that statement.

“Sure, and he certainly looks like he had all kinds of horrible intent for you!” Sans says derisively as he stands, running a reassuring hand over GD’s back as the fluffy monster presses his face into his shirt. “Now how about you leave? You’re scaring him.”

A few heavy seconds tick by where the only movement between the two of them is the swivelling of Crim’s dull red eyelights between Sans’ defensive stance and the way GD’s face is burying itself in the crook of his arm. Sans tilts his chin up ever so slightly at the other - presenting himself as an immovable force of silent admonishment - but it’s nearly an entire minute before the angry energy in Crim’s frame recedes into a semblance of his earlier fatigue. An irritated semblance.

But he moves, and it’s a victorious surge of energy that hits him as Crim  _ actually does as he’s told _ and brushes by close enough for Sans to feel the wind of his passage. As he does, Sans barely catches the forced-sounding apology muttered under Crim’s breath as he stalks off.

“Jeez, I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Sans says as he watches the retreating form with slightly narrowed sockets. “Are you hurt?”

The dog monster finally pulls his snout out of Sans’ clothing and produces another pathetic whine followed by a short, negative yip. Sans gently plops GD down by the prosthetic with a relieved sigh, and the other monster stays long enough for a few seconds of reassuring ear scratches before he returns to the control console.

“Is everything working okay?” Sans asks as GD gets the suit standing properly and brushes off some residual snow coating the shirt. “I could come by after work and make sure both you and LD’s suits are-”

He’s interrupted by another crushing hug. This one is shorter and doesn’t lift him off his feet, but he still feels a part of his spine popping in protest. A moment later he’s released and an excited GD is padding off towards a fairly concerned LD, yapping away animatedly. Sans doesn’t know enough Barkspeech to translate, but the way GD is gesturing makes him assume that it’s probably about him.

Sans follows him for a few steps, but when the two wave at him happily, he waves back and continues on his path towards his patrol route. It’s at times like these that the dog monster’s notoriously short term memory actually works in his favor, allowing him to shed Crim’s awful treatment like a winter coat. In fact-

“Yo.”

Sans nearly jumps out of his clothes, and his soul stutters in his chest when he whirls around to see a familiar black-and-white dog monster standing out front of his shop, barely an arm’s length away. There’s a lit dog treat clenched securely between his teeth, and his blind eyes are trained on Crim’s retreating form.

“HHHHHHI Doggo! How long have you, um-”

“Eh, long enough. Still a little prickly, ain’t he?”

Sans shakes his head quickly, trying to piece together some semblance of a front. “Y-yeah, I guess he is. Anyway!” he says, throwing up jazz hands to attract Doggo’s attention. “I’m so sorry for just running out on you a few weeks back without paying-”

“Don’t sweat it. Pap needed help.” The scent of Doggo’s breath is heavy with the smell of the burning treat, which has a heavy, earthy scent that’s so very unlike his brother’s, sticking in the back of his mouth when Sans breathes out. It’s not an uncommon scent around Doggo, but he swears he’s smelt it before - and  _ recently, _ too - but he can’t put a finger on where, exactly.

“I still feel bad for not paying,” he insists, digging in one of his pants pockets, “but I have the gold right here!” 

“It’s cool, you already paid your debt.” Doggo waves a hand at him and grins disarmingly. “No interest rate when you got a tab. I’m not  _ that _ much of an asshole.”

A sticky dread closes around his soul at the words. “What? But I didn’t-”

Doggo only continues to grin at his confusion. “Mister Can’t-Take-A-Prank came by ‘bout a week ago and told me you had sent him to pay for the meds,” he says with a shrug, tapping the ash off the end of his treat into one of the discarded snowpiles besides the walkway to the door. “He paid off your tab too, so you don’t owe me anything anymore.”

Crim covered the medication? He covered their  _ debt? _ The debt Sans has been trying to repay for over a year now? “But I- I never told him to…”

Doggo takes a slow drag on his smoke and hums as he exhales. “Sounds like you got yourself a great friend there, then.” 

Sans stays quiet, soul beating rapidly and his eyelights drifting from Doggo’s serene expression to the series of fresh footprints heading off towards the Cafe. He doesn’t trust himself enough to speak, knowing that he won’t be able to express the gratitude a gift like that usually deserves. Next to Doggo, he can’t even move, forced by Crim into a reality where it’s far from _ gratitude _ that simmers in his mind...

And no one else can know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our next update might be later than the 15th of October (as advertised via our 3-week schedule) due to health and school concerns for us, sadly, but we'll give it a shot without stressing ourselves out! And as always, thank you so much for reading and commenting, guys. Writing BS - while we have a lot of fun talking about it amongst each other - is so much sweeter with y'all around to encourage us to keep creating.
> 
> Most questions about our scheduling (and delays, and other interesting little things like art) can be answered via our update posts on our respective tumblr accounts. :> Links for those can be found in the beginning notes of every chapter.


	15. Hell March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooooooo! We're back!  
>  **THANK YOU** for being so patient and awesome and nice! We really appreciate all the nice messages, comments and well wishes we got here and on Tumblr. It means a lot that you all were so understanding while we were dealing with broken legs and shitty life getting in the way of writing. You are legends  <3
> 
> So, to celebrate, here's 9k words for you! Have fun!
> 
> ### TRIGGER WARNING - Manipulative character
> 
> If this might trigger you, please be safe and don't read the chapter! Come to us for a safe summary instead!
> 
> -  
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> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~

## ~ Chapter Fifteen ~  
Hell March

 

 **_"Facilis descensus Averno."  
_ ** _(The descent to hell is easy.)_

**-[Aeneid](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aeneid) by [Virgil](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virgil)**

_(Origin of the saying "_ _The road to  
hell is _ _paved with good intentions")_

**_Blue's POV_ **

* * *

 It’s his usual Friday night at Alphys’, but despite the scent of fresh-baked cookies wafting through the house and even with one of Al’s music lists [playing in the background](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y0rxpQI0ZbY), he isn’t feeling the usual excitement over spending time with her. Even building their combat robot - that’s far from competition ready - gives him no joy today. 

Instead, Sans is slumped forward, most of his weight resting on the elbow rooted in the middle of one of the smaller piles of tiny metal parts covering the table. He’s absentmindedly picking at a dangling joint on the foot tall robot in front of him with a small pair of pliers and a screwdriver, trying to figure out why it’s making a horrid grinding noise each time it moves.

He and Alphys have opted for a much stockier robot than their usual this year, programmed to dig its little scoops under an opponent and flip it over. It’s a valid tactic, as an enemy robot who can’t function on its side is effectively ‘beaten’. Alphys kept wanting to call it ‘The Mountain’ or ‘The Immovable Object’, since, true to its name, it’s roughly the shape of a craggy boulder and they were making it as heavy as possibly within regulation limits. However, all Sans sees tonight when he looks at it is just a mangled mess of electronics instead of the magnificent instrument of their future victory.

He knows he should be focused on the problems at hand, but every time he tries, thoughts of how Crim is currently sabotaging all of his carefully laid plans drives him to distraction. It’s so unbelievably frustrating - they’re just a few months from the tournament and he can’t even concentrate! 

He’s submerged so deep in his own mind that he notices neither the dozen glances Alphys casts his way, nor her attempts to start a conversation. It’s only when she punches him in the shoulder that he finally realizes she’s talking to him.

“If you’re gonna fall asleep on me, just go home,” she tells him when he finally turns his eyelights towards her. 

“I’m not tired,” he lies. He actually  _ is _ really tired after the day he had, but he also knows they don’t have long before the tournament and they’re nowhere near ready to participate yet. Not when he’s failing at the simple act of attaching the arms of the thing on properly, anyway. “Just… thinking.” He fails to come up with a better excuse, but he supposes settling on a semi truth is good enough. 

“Yeah?” Alphys prompts him, but Sans has no idea where to start. His continued silence makes Alphys sigh and roll her eyes. “Okay, spill. What’s wrong?”

Sans feels the reluctance to answer, but underneath there’s a need to talk about everything with his best friend that’s eating away at him. He wants to tell her, but he’s afraid she won’t understand. How could she? To everyone else, Crim is the perfect houseguest. He insists on helping with the rent, he buys food enough to cover the expenses for his own consumption, he helps clean and cook, and even repairs their devices for free despite it being his job now. In public, he’s polite to his hosts, always talks well of them. He’s even managed to befriend a good number of the Snowdin residents and created a good reputation for himself. There’s no evidence that Crim is the sleazy, lying, manipulative leech that he is, and Sans risks sounding like a jerk if he doesn’t spin his explanation right. 

“It’s silly,” he mumbles for a lack of anything better. Maybe if she believes that he thinks it’s stupid too, he won’t look exactly as bad as Crim wants him to look. Sans just  _ knows _ this is Crim’s plan: he’s being awful towards the only person who won’t fall for his tricks and he’s making sure that there’s nothing Sans can do about it. He’s covering his tracks and playing nice in public. Being so thoroughly undermined makes Sans  _ so angry _ .

“Of course it is, you overthink everything!” Alphys says after a snort. “But I still want to know what’s wrong.”

He sighs and sits back, letting go of the robot for now. He won’t be able to concentrate anyway. “It’s… Crim,” he says slowly, glancing at her.

Alphys’ eyes immediately snap to him, and he recognizes that hawkish, scrutinizing look on her face. It makes him nervous; he knows exactly how perceptive Al can be when she’s concerned. “What about him? Did he do something?”

“ _ Technically _ , no,” Sans says, knowing he must tread lightly and carefully choose his words to make sure she understands. 

Alphys’ worried expression fades away and her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “How can someone only  _ technically _ do something wrong?” she asks.

“Because- because he’s infuriatingly good at making it seem like he’s  _ not _ doing anything wrong,” Sans answers. He clenches his hands into fists and focuses on the feeling of his fingertips scraping against his palm to control the surge of anger. Alphys’ eyes linger on his hands and knowing that she knows that he’s trying to stay calm just makes it that much harder to do so. She taught him that trick and he’s under no illusion that she forgot. 

“So what you’re saying is that you can’t prove anything,” she says slowly. Sans’ face becomes a web of tightly scrunched, angry lines as he continues to slowly and deliberately breathe in and out in a controlled pattern.

“Come on, you know the drill,” Alphys says, reaching over to rub his back. Sans can’t exactly remember when they figured out that physical touch like that helped keep him grounded, but feeling the roughness of her scales through his shirt as she runs her hand up and down his back makes it easier to breathe. “No keeping that shit in, no matter how stupid you think it sounds. Tell me what he did,” she tells him. She’s right, he  _ knows _ she’s right, but he’s still worried. She’s the last person he wants to think badly of him and the thought of her not believing him is terrifying. But underneath all that fear, the need to get it out in the open is still stronger. 

“It’s just… he’s  _ awful _ ,” Sans blurts out, curling his fingers in front of himself for emphasis. “He’s rude, he’s obnoxious, he doesn’t  _ listen _ when I tell him to do things, he’s gross, he doesn’t care about  _ anyone _ , he has  _ horrid  _ taste in clothing, he’s snappy, he’s eternally pessimistic, he taught his cat how to be a jerk, he wouldn’t know what a diet was even if a Vegetoid explained it to him,” Alphys barks out a short ugly-laugh at that before she goes back to listening. “He just… he does a hundred small things  _ wrong _ and he just doesn’t seem to get how my brother _ is, _ you know? And the worst part is that his stupid little mannerisms are  _ rubbing off _ on Papy! I heard him curse offhandedly just yesterday! He never does that!”

“Well, did you talk to him?”

Sans throws his hands up.  _ “Yes, I talked to him!”  _ he just about shouts. “It was literally the first thing I did! He laughed in my face, can you believe it?”

The look on Alphys’ face does, in fact, confirm that she believes him. “If he bothers you that much, kick him out,” she says bluntly. “Some time looking for a place to stay will make him think twice about mouthing off to someone he’s staying with.”

“I… I want to,” he admits for the first time out loud. “But I can’t,” Sans says miserably. At Al’s questioning look, he elaborates. “Papy likes him. I mean  _ really _ likes him,” Sans says, feeling a renewed pulse of anger towards Crim. “Crim might be the absolute worst, but I haven’t seen Papy this happy in a long time and you know how hard it is for him to make new friends…” Sans is absolutely torn. “I want him to be happy, but I wish it was with someone who cared more about him.”

Alphys just leans back in her chair, rocking it off the front legs and using her tail to prevent herself from falling over backwards. “You know he can move out and still be friends with the guy, right?”

Sans doesn’t answer, hunching his shoulders and trying to shrink behind his side of the table. 

“...Unless there’s something you’re not telling me, here. Hey, what’re you so afraid of?”

“If… if he moves out,” Sans says slowly, “he’s not coming back. He’s made that pretty clear.”

“So, like, to the Capital? Kind of a long trip, sure, but he could still visit.”

Sans shakes his head. “I don’t know where he’s going,” he says, and he supposes that’s a half-truth at best, “but he’s said that after he leaves he doesn't want anything to do with us anymore.” Well, that’s true enough, right? Once Crim figures out how to leave, he’s definitely not coming back.

“Wow, that’s kind of a dick move after everything you guys have done for him.”

He shrugs, indifferent at the thought of never seeing Crim again. “It’s probably for the best, but Papy… he’s going to take it so hard,” he says, trying to keep the real depth of his worry out of his voice. “I’ve told him repeatedly that Crim is going to leave one day, but he wants to keep believing that nothing is going to change. He’s just… so set in his routines now.”

“Doesn’t mean you should suffer while he decides when to go. Just sounds like he’s holding you hostage, honestly.”

His sockets go wide as what Alphys says sinks in, and his whole body tenses up at once as he realizes that was the explanation he’d been looking for this whole time. “EXACTLY!” Sans yells with an angry conviction born of a thousand and one frustrations, arms shooting up in the air. “That’s  _ exactly _ what he’s doing! And he’s using Papy to do it!”

Al, still leaning back in her chair, crosses her arms in front of her with a serious expression. “Hate to say it Sans, but the longer you let this go on, the harder it’ll be to do later. If he bothers you, kick him out and damn the consequences. It’s your house, your rules, right? If he doesn’t keep in touch with you or your brother afterwards, Paps’ll be hurt, but he’ll understand.”

While she talks, Sans’ hands lightly latch onto the rim of the table and his stare bores a hole into the wood. It’s tempting, so tempting to say what’s on the tip of his tongue. Alphys makes a good point - and one he’d considered on the days his mind refused to do anything but go in circles on the topic - but there’s one thing preventing him from agreeing with her.

“I can’t, I just can’t,” he repeats. “I don’t want to push Papy even further away,” Sans says with miserable honesty. “We haven’t been doing as much stuff together lately, what with the competition coming up and work and-” Sans just barely manages to stop himself from saying Crim’s name, “- and everything. He’s starting to act like I’m always getting under his skin and it’s just…” Sans, unable to find a voice for that fear, distracts himself with a loose screw precariously by the edge of the table, rolling it between his thumb and the wood. It works - the collision of textures helps soothe a ball of stress hiding between his shoulderblades. “It’s stupid, I know it’s stupid. I just… I  _ hate _ seeing Crim in my place, and I don’t want Papy to… you know.” Something in his voice seems to tip Alphys off, because he sees her slowly lower her chair back to the ground out of the corner of one socket.

“Woah, hey, back up,” she says in a gentle voice, her whole face voicing real concern. “Where’s this coming from? You know that your brother would never replace you, right?” She leans forward on the table with her thick forearms, heedless of the multitude of things she disturbs as she does so. A few hit the carpet with almost inaudible thuds, and he hates that his first instinctive reaction is annoyance at how hard they’ll be to find them later in the salt and pepper patterning.

“He might be the most oblivious person I know,” Alphys says, placing a warm hand over his, “but he loves you. Crim being buddy-buddy with him isn’t going to change that.”

The words prod at a slimy and viscous doubt coiled tightly around his soul. “He went to Crim instead of me,” Sans admits quietly. “Right before he got sick, he had an episode and didn’t come to me. He won’t even talk about what happened and it’s been two weeks. Every time I try to bring it up, he changes the topic or just leaves. But Papy trusts _him_ ,” he says with an edge to his voice, “and if I just suddenly kick Crim out, I don’t want him to think, you know… I did it just because _I_ couldn’t stand him. But I don’t _have_ any reason to do it, other than that.”

“You really don’t want to be the bad guy, huh?”

At his repeat shrug, Alphys taps an insistent claw on the table, disturbing a few of the smaller metal scraps. “Hey, if you’re worried that you’re not spending enough time with Pap, why not plan something just for the two of you? Like, you know, a weekend outing? And hey, best part: you get to exclude the numbskull.”

Sans crinkles his nasal ridge as he considers her sage words. “But the competition-”

“Isn’t going anywhere fast when you’re distracted out of your gourd, nerd,” she finishes matter-of-factly for him. “Seriously, take a weekend and spend it with Papyrus. There’s some programming stuff I can do on my own that you don’t need to be here for,” she says, gesturing at the open back console of the incomplete robot. “I promise not to autocommand it into a straight line before I unhook it from the laptop this time,” she adds with a smile that he returns with a hesitant grin.

“That’s… actually a really good idea,” Sans says, the gears in his head are already starting to turn. Where would Papy like to go? What gross, overly sugary event food would he like to eat? The more he thinks it over, the more perfect the idea sounds to him. The pieces slowly fall into place as he attaches coils to the tiny hydraulics, and he feels a smile take over his face. It’s  _ perfect _ , the perfect way to ease Papy off Crim. Spending more time with him, give him something else that’s exciting and new in his life… introduce him to other people. Maybe he can completely eradicate any need for Crim that Papy has right now. All Sans has to do is make sure Papy has better options. 

“Al, you’re a genius,” he tells her, meeting her raised eyebrow with a wide smile. He doesn’t know what he would do without her sometimes.

“Of course I am,” she says, turning back to their work with with a satisfied sigh. “Now, let’s find all that stuff I knocked off the table, huh? I need a screw.”

Sans groans.

* * *

**_[Music suggestio n](https://youtu.be/GeZZr_p6vB8?t=1m18s) _ ** _(this is a joke lol)_

 

A week later Sans seriously reconsiders just throwing Crim out on his ass, consequences be damned. 

His week starts with a very familiar uncomfortable feeling overtaking his entire body, one that he has been dreading for some time. He barely makes it one day before he can’t concentrate on his work and has to call Alphys to take his heat leave.  

The next day he’s in hell. By midday, Sans is actually certain he’s being burned alive, but when he checks himself in the mirror the imaginary feeling vanishes. His bones are as white and pristine as always, no charred edges or smoldering surfaces in sight, despite him still feeling like he’s standing in a furnace. Taking an icy cold shower doesn’t do anything to soothe the heat. 

Nothing he does and no matter how little clothing he wears, there’s no getting away from the constant burning sensation. He actually opts for shorts and a tanktop after anything more makes him feel like he’s being wrapped in wet, clingy towels after a bare half hour of enduring it, his magic seeping through the material and soaking it in a futile effort to cool him off. In the end, the humiliation of wearing practically nothing is easier to deal with, despite the horrid feelings of exposure that crop up with it. His only consolation is that there’s no one here to witness his misery.

Being in heat  _ sucks _ . 

Wednesday continues his torture. After way too little sleep, his only way to endure is to distract himself. Cleaning usually helps him, but today even that is failing him. The cool washcloth in his hand and the soapy water slowly dripping down his forearm does nothing to cool the heat spiking in unstable patterns. His magic thrashes, beating against the inside of his skull. His thoughts are sluggish and easily stray back towards the dark roads he’s trying to keep off of. He once again has to force his overactive imagination down a different road, forcing it off the path his body has chosen as a way to persuade him submit to its biological desires. But Sans refuses to give in. He has survived 23 years without giving in or humiliating himself (too much) and he’ll rather actually burn himself than even consider giving himself over to those primitive and deceptively alluring possibilities. It would be so easy to just give in-

But no,  _ no _ ! He won’t be a slave to those lewd desires. He is going to wait for that special someone and give  _ them _ his first. There’s no way he is going to waste that special moment in some biological magic induced lust frenzy. No way. That is his decision and it will stay that way no matter how horrible his heats become or how long he has to wait for the right monster to enter his life.

He’s pretty sure the shower walls are plenty clean by now, considering it’s his third time cleaning them in two days, but he still scrubs them harder, needing the easy, repetitive motion to keep his mind clear and his thoughts in control so they don’t stray. 

He’s forced to admit defeat after another ten minutes of useless scrubbing when his shoulder starts hurting. That’s how he finds himself standing in the living room, staring at the immaculate floor and furniture with a strange sense of sadness stabbing at his chest. He has cleaned the entire house, even managed to tame the messy wilds in Papy’s room and done all the laundry in just two days. Every corner of every room has seen his touch, been visited by his vacuum and been at the mercy of his entire collection of cleaning supplies. He even used the special homemade soap he buys from Gerald the Pig - and Sans still can’t believe Gerald  _ actually _ makes people call him that despite how speciest it is - that Papy loves the scent of because it reminds him of Mom. Sans has been  _ everywhere _ , except…

Except the guest room!

It takes him less than ten minutes to collect all his supplies and take them to the guest room with him. The guest room isn’t as messy as Papy’s room, which both makes Sans happy and disappointed, because on one side Crim isn’t defiling their home with his filth - at least not the physical kind - but on the other, it won’t take him long to clean everything.

He’s in the middle of re-dressing the bed when Crim walks in on him. He’s so hyperfocused on making sure the correct portion of the sheet ends up at the headboard side that he misses the footsteps, the key in the lock,  _ and _ the turning of the handle. It actually takes the cold gust of air brushing up against his exposed bones to startle him out of the task.  When he turns to look and finds Crim standing in the doorway, his soul freezes solid for all of a second like he’d been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. He tries to tell himself that it’s  _ his house _ and he  _ shouldn’t be feeling this way _ but the surprise and confusion he reads on Crim’s face makes it hard to reason with.

There’s a soft click as the door shuts behind him, and the other stares for a long, long moment, eyelights slowly dragging over the changes in the room and then over Sans. A lifted browbone flushes Sans with embarrassment and the explanation ready on his tongue gets stuck. Suddenly he doesn’t know what to say and every excuse seems pathetic.

Crim’s gaze makes him feel like he’s being doused in gasoline. Sans’ heat spikes and he fights with everything he has to not tremble or let the whine building in the back of his throat escape him. He shouldn’t be reacting this way just because of someone  _ looking at him,  _ especially not when it’s  _ Crim _ . Stars, what is wrong with him?

Sans shifts the weight on his feet and lifts his head, attempting to return Crim’s scrutinizing look with one of neutral coldness. Something about his reaction makes Crim’s mask crack and a smile slowly grows on his face. 

“What’cha doing there, little Blue?” he asks, voice dipping lower than usual. He takes a step closer to Sans and Sans resists the urge to step back to keep distance between them. Somehow, he suddenly feels cornered, trapped,  _ hunted _ … and he realizes with horror that he  _ likes it. _

“I-I’m cleaning your mess,” he responds, mentally berating himself for stuttering. “I thought that was rather obvious.” He gestures to the cleaning supplies on the floor and the baskets full of laundry, hoping that Crim won’t notice the tremble in his hand.

“Hmm,” Crim hums, head tilting to the right as his eyes drag over Sans’ body again. He steps even closer, forcing Sans to finally step back. “I don’t need help changing the sheets on my bed.” He glances at the dirty sheets on the floor and the clean ones clutched tightly in Sans’ hands. “And I don’t remember asking for help cleaning my room.” 

“It’s the  _ guest room _ ,” Sans instantly corrects him. “And since it’s a part of  _ my house _ , I don’t need permission to clean it.” 

“True…” Crim says slowly, “But the real question is, why are you doing it  _ now _ ? I’ve been living here for two whole months and I know you’ve been  _ dying _ to do it for just as long.”

“I’ve constantly told you to tidy up and return the dirty plates and cups you bring out here,” Sans reminds him. “Maybe I just got tired of waiting for you to clean your pigsty.” 

Sans expects to see the usual flash of annoyance cross Crim’s face and feel the sting of his sharp retort after being insulted, but instead of getting angry and defensive, Crim seems to  _ relax _ instead. It throws Sans for a loop. He stumbles a few steps back, the change in Crim’s behavior so uncharacteristic and unexpected that he doesn’t know how to react.

There’s a hollow bump from behind when his back hits the wall. Looking up, Sans feels the need to rub the sudden tightness in his chest away. The way Crim is looking at him is downright predatory, but Sans doesn’t feel threatened in the way he would expect. Despite feeling vulnerable and exposed, trembling behind the sheet still caught in his grip, he feels empowered. Crim’s gaze is hungry and playful when he follows him. 

“You’re always so… mmh...” Crim tells him in a slow, quiet murmur. “Uptight.” He whispers the last word, speaks it like it’s a secret. His hands - those stupid, stupid hands hidden in the even stupider fingerless gloves that Sans normally  _ despises _ \- come up to brush over Sans’. Crim’s fingers expertly extract the sheet from his hands and lets it drop to the floor without thought. “You need to relax more,” Crim then continues in a low purr. “Take a break…” He tilts his head, smile growing. “Unwind a bit.” The b pops as it rolls off his tongue and Sans fights the burning arousal slowly churning in his soul without success. It’s like Crim knows  _ just _ the right things to say to rile him up.

He has never noticed it before, but Crim is… kind of beautiful. His long fingers, the shape of his shoulders… Maybe it’s because Sans has been so, so focused on trying to find reasons to hate Crim for stealing his brother that he never let himself  _ really look _ at him. And now that he  _ is _ , Sans suddenly can’t remember why he’s been torturing himself for so long. Giving in isn’t that bad. It’s not like the first time is anything special. Everybody does it all the time and honestly, waiting for so long is only hurting himself. Every heat without giving in makes the next that much worse, his soul getting increasingly more and more desperate. He could end it all by just  _ grabbing  _ Crim and- and…

Sans notices the rush of warmth in his pelvis way too late. His magic has manifested itself without him meaning to do it, and _ oh stars _ , Crim is glancing down, undoubtingly seeing the evidence of Sans’ loss of control. Crim’s mouth twists in a wicked grin. “You even sure you know how to use that thing, kid?” he asks.

Sans has never been called ‘kid’ like that before. He knows he should be embarrassed about the red-hot surge of _want_ that rushes through him, but he just can’t. The way the nickname rolls off Crim’s tongue makes his toes want to curl and sends shivers down his spine. Crim’s voice has always had this slight growling undertone and _it_ _does things to him_. His magic roars in his soul, making his throat itch with moans he refuses to let out.

Sans looks down for a few moments before letting his eyes flick up to meet Crim’s, attempting to use the trick Alphys taught him years ago when she was determined to find him a boyfriend.

“Why don’t you kiss me and find out?” he asks.

The grin on his face widens a bit before Crim steps closer, forcing Blue to lean back against the wall. Crim rests a hand against the wall right next to Sans’ head, supporting his weight. It brings him even closer, and for the briefest of moments their chests brush against each other. Crim’s breath puffs over his face, caressing his cheeks and Sans draws in a shuddering breath. He’s so close,  _ so close _ and Sans feels his body shake with the effort of staying still. If it hadn’t been for the wall behind him, he’s sure he would have collapsed on the floor by now. 

Crim hums quietly, his eyelights once again mapping out Sans’ face. 

“Is that what you want?” Crim murmurs. 

“Yes,” Sans replies breathlessly, the word snapping out of him before he can stop it. “Stars,  _ yes _ .”

Crim chuckles. It’s such a pretty sound, so soft and warm. It reminds Sans of hot cocoa and fuzzy blankets. Why has he never noticed that before?

“If you want it that much,” Crim whispers, “then why haven’t you done it yet?” 

It feels like a rubber band snaps inside him. If he had been in his right mind, he would have noticed Crim’s overly amused grin before he moves, but as it is, he sees nothing before he has them spun around so he’s the one pushing Crim up against the wall. He doesn’t even see how the grin slips from Crim’s face just split seconds before their mouths knock together. His soul rages in triumph, but Sans doesn’t find the relief he had expected, doesn’t find that tingle of foreign magic pressing against his. If anything, his soul starts burning hotter, his magic rising, beating through his bones with so much force it’s a miracle he’s not actually physically moving in rhythm with it. 

The crash of ceramic off to the side sounds hushed to him, but Crim seems to jolt like he’d been shocked. The flash of red magic before his eyes at first excites him, but the resulting emptiness it leaves in front of him maroons Sans in a bay of sluggish confusion. The hands securely latched in Crim’s sweater now grasp at empty air, and he can see clear through to the subdued tans of the plaster walls. He hears something heavy hit the wall opposite him not even a second later, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out Crim had teleported away and crashed into the wall in his hurry to do so. 

_ “Th’hell,” _ comes the angry yell from the opposite side of the room, answering his unspoken question. Left staring at a blank section of wall and his own clenched, empty fists, Sans’ swirling eyelights hone in on the voice only to find Crim plastered against the vertical surface and hurriedly scrubbing at his face with the arm of a sweater. “What’s your fucking problem?!” he exclaims. He’s hyperaware of the fact that Crim’s magic-charged eyelights are the size of peas, but why?

Sans looks towards the door and finds his brother standing there, hands grasping at empty air and mouth wide open. The broken cups and the tea slowly soaking into the new carpet at his feet answers at least one of Sans’ many questions. That must have been the sound of ceramic breaking that had interrupted them. 

“What _ the hell _ is going on here?!” Papy shouts, finally finding his voice. It shocks Sans enough to reevaluate the situation, and it apparently unsettles Crim as well - Papy almost never raises his voice. His brother looks from Sans to Crim and back again, waiting for an answer. 

And Sans tries to think of an answer, he really does, but the truth is... He has absolutely no idea what  _ is _ going on. What  _ was _ he doing? How could he even  _ think _ about kissing Crim?  _ Crim, _ of all people!?

But before he can open his mouth and come up with a good answer that doesn’t involve his heat making him insane, Crim beats him to it, gesturing wildly with one hand between Sans and the spotless room as a whole.

“Your bro lost his fuckin’ mind, that’s what’s going on!” Crim tells Papy.

“You  _ told me _ to kiss you!” Sans sputters in a desperate attempt to defend himself, drawing an invisible line connecting the two of them.

“I was fuckin’ messing with ya!” Crim says.  _ “I was just messing with him!” _ he repeats in Papy’s direction for emphasis, his head on a swivel as his gaze darts between the two of them. “I thought that was pretty fucking obvious! Jeez!”

“‘Obvious!?’” Sans throws as much offense and accusation as he possibly can into the word. “Just  _ how _ would that be obvious!?” he exclaims.

_ “Then why haven’t you done it yet?” _ Crim repeats himself, and it’s only now that Sans can hear the obviously exaggerated mocking undertone. His cheeks burns even brighter with shame. “Do you really think I’d use some cheesy ass romance novel line like that?” It should be impossible, but Sans feels his cheeks heat even more.  _ He _ had used some pretty cheesy lines too, and well-

“W-well  _ excuse me _ for being a bit beside myself today!” Sans snaps. 

“You’re in heat, not fuckin’ dying,” Crim says. “Shit, even I ain’t  _ that _ desperate when I’m in heat.” Papy’s mouth opens, but Crim notices and immediately points a finger in his direction, eyesockets narrowing. “Don’t even  _ think _ about saying that out loud, Slick. I will _ end  _ you.” Papy raises his hands.

“Well, my heats are uncommonly powerful,” Sans throws back a little too quickly in a hurry to defend himself. He clears his throat before finishing with a slower, “What’s  _ your _ excuse?”

Crim doesn’t miss a beat and it pisses Sans off. “I’m an asshole. Thought you knew that already.” 

“I’m beginning to, yes!” 

Crim doesn’t respond, simply shaking his head in disgust and giving a last wipe to the side of his mouth _. _

“Aren’t you going to apologize?!” Sans asks, his voice rising two pitches in the intervening silence.

“For what? Thinking we were messing with each other?”

The fact that he can detect actual confusion in Crim’s tone almost offends him more than the complete disregard for his feelings. “You thought I wasn’t serious?” 

“Uh, yeah?” Crim answers, arms gesturing front of him. “I dunno if you’ve noticed  _ kid _ -” Sans has to suppress a shudder of revulsion (he tells himself that it’s definitely revulsion, has to make himself believe it for the sake of his own sanity) at that stupid word- “but we ain’t exactly best pals. I thought you were trying to pull my leg.”

“And the fact that I’m in heat just skipped your notice?!” Sans all but shouts back.

At this, Crim just rolls his eyelights before they flick back to Sans. For some reason, that casual dismissal of his current situation just serves to make him even angrier. Crim can’t even make the effort to call Sans out on his bullshit so he can be put in his place for being ungrateful and cruel. He just needs  _ one excuse _ he can use to throw Crim out, and suddenly, Sans can’t find a better reason than that, even if it wasn’t planned. You just don’t do something like this to people who’ve been nothing but nice to you. 

“Honestly, I thought you were usin’ it to trick me,” Crim explains, and continues before Sans can respond. “I wanted to mess with ya to see how far you’d let it go on. If I’d known you were that fuckin’ desperate I wouldn’t have.”

“If that’s supposed to be an apology, it sucks.” Sans knows it’s petty, but he has nothing left. Crim is expertly skirting the edges of being an asshole and he’s wrapping himself in valid excuses that even Sans can’t pull apart.

“Well it’s as good as it’s gonna get, so take it or leave it. I don’t fucking care.” With all the lack of respect only Crim can manage, he teleports out without saying anything else and it feels like the final slap in the face to Sans. 

He rattles with the effort of keeping his anger in check, fingers digging into his palms. If only Crim had continued to argue, maybe he could have released some of the feverishly roiling energy inside by yelling at him. So, instead of feeling satisfaction over winning an argument, the rejection, defeat and uselessness crowding his soul only fans the flames. Damn Crim for making him the bad guy so easily, and damn him for getting out of this! It’s just not fair! 

“Aaargh!” Sans screams. His fist goes right through the wall when it connects with it, providing almost no resistance and just serves to make him even angrier. Even the damn wall can’t give him a bit of relief. It’s like the entire universe is out to get him, and Sans seethes at the resulting hole in the drywall like it had been the one to personally offend him.

“So, I guess I shouldn’t ask.” The unnatural calmness in his brother’s voice is unsettling. Having forgotten that Papy even existed for a minute there, it manages to distract Sans from the embarrassment and anger, if only for a moment. Papyrus is barely looking at him when he turns to find him, half turned towards the door and hand hovering on the frame like he was in the middle of leaving before he spoke.

The cool air between them feels like another stab in the back, and it only reminds Sans of what just happened. He tries to reign it all in - his anger, his hatred of Crim, this whole situation - but with all the restless energy simmering just below the surface and the clear evidence of property destruction before him, he finds it impossible.

“Just… don’t. Please don’t,” Sans responds, his voice tight. He turns away, unable to face the heavily closeted, nearly blank expression his brother is gracing him with. “Just… Please Papy, give me a moment alone.” He doesn’t hear his brother leave - there’s no telltale crunch of snow beneath shoes - but when Sans looks over his shoulder, he finds that he’s gotten his wish. The ghost of a mental note crops up, tells him to reprimand Papy for that later.

Now by himself in the slowly freezing guest room, his eyelights pan from the chilly Snowdin evening outside to the hole. He doesn’t make a move to shut the door, instead focusing on the cold to calm both his temper and the fire still engulfing his whole body. In the resulting quiet, his hand starts to throb. It will bruise, probably, in the places that had struck the wood beneath the plaster, and he can feel the gritty pieces of the wall shift between his fingers when he finally unclenches them.

It’s a familiar pain; calming, like a hard evening of training with Alphys, and it distracts him from wondering how much more of this he can possibly take.

* * *

There’s a certain fragility to early mornings that Sans can’t help but love. The crisp, fresh air prickling against his face and the soft sound of winter birds waking up in the forest accompany every morning he has. Even though the Snowdin cave never gets particularly warm, he still loves taking a cup of tea outside in the garden. There’s something magical about watching the thick steam mix with the icy cold air. The contrast between cold and hot wakes him up like nothing else can. 

It’s not every morning he can do it. Some mornings he’s just too busy and when that happens, he mourns the moment of tranquility he could have had. But on the mornings where there’s no hurry, and nothing or no one waiting for him, he can take a moment to himself. He will sit on the wooden bench near the wild berry bushes in the back, letting the memories embedded in the old, darkened wood wash over him. 

They have a bittersweet tang to them. They’re fuzzy memories of easier days, torn at the edges and oozing a complicated mix of feelings every time he touches them. He remembers sitting on his father’s lap on this very bench, pointing out tiny circles in tree tops where the birds were building their nests. The memory hurts almost as much as it warms. The phantom feeling of a strong arm around his back, holding him gently in place so he wouldn’t tumble off the bench in his excitement… It never seems to fade, and neither does the sting of overpowering grief. 

But despite the sadness he feels by sitting where his parents were once alive and happy, he also feels more connected to them here. Walking in his father’s footsteps through the once thriving but now overgrown garden calms him, makes him remember why he keeps trying to make everything right: Sans doesn’t want to walk this same path and have to remember his brother like he has to remember his parents. 

He can’t remember the sound of his mother’s voice anymore, but he remembers her words and her smile. She would get this look in her eye after telling a joke that can still take Sans’ breath away when he recalls it. It was only there for a split second at a time, that tiny moment before she saw the reaction to her joke… She was never more beautiful than in that moment. Excited, happy,  _ proud _ . 

He asks them for advice sometimes. Not always out loud, but always in his thoughts, even when he feels silly for how bad he wishes they would answer him sometimes. He asks them what they would have done, tries to imagine them in his place. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Sans feels cornered and powerless like he never has before. He’s been so used to getting the results he wanted when he was faced with a problem, even when the result required him to work  _ against _ people instead of  _ with _ them. He’s not used to being targeted, not used to being covered in someone else’s shroud of deception and trickery. Crim is  _ good _ and Sans hates to admit it, but he really is. In some way he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised - Crim is technically  _ him _ in some twisted, wrong way - but he still finds himself flabbergasted every time Crim manages to manipulate a situation in his favor. Sans has  _ no idea _ how Crim made it look like  _ Sans _ had assaulted  _ him _ when it was obviously the other way around. Papy couldn’t even look Sans in the eye for the rest of his heat, and every time he’d tried to explain while Crim wasn’t around, he just ended up tripping over his own tongue. He couldn’t help it - when he’d realized all over again that he’d full-on kissed Crim after that horrid attempt at baiting him, he’d turn into an angry, shameful mess. After the third failed attempt, he’d just ended up hiding in his room as much as possible like a coward until the heat finally passed. 

Sans is  _ not _ a coward. The whole situation was just too far out of his control to diffuse, and he simply couldn’t think with his full rationality when he was in that state of mind. He’d needed space from everyone, and he’d taken it, even if it meant conceding the whole incident to Crim in the process. He’d lost. Again.

“You have to stop with the self pity, Sans,” he mumbles to himself. Self pity is for those who have given up, and Sans refuses to do that. He  _ will  _ make sure his brother doesn’t crumble after he learns just how many masks Crim is hiding behind and how many lies he’s telling. Papy  _ needs _ him, even if he doesn’t realize it yet, and Sans is strong enough to carry all of Crim’s malice on his shoulders if it means Papy never feels the sting of it. These thoughts bolster his resolve even as it settles a new stone on the weight already residing on his shoulders.

“I miss you,” he tells the small pine tree that now adorns the center of their garden. He knows it’s silly: The tree wasn’t even alive when his mother died, but he still feels a newer, stronger connection to her here. More so than he did before. 

He looks towards the cave ceiling for a moment, watching the heavy, foggy clouds lazily spin on an invisible current. “I wish I could ask you for advice,” he tells the tree. “Ask for… guidance, I suppose.” He shrugs and looks at the nearly empty cup between his hands. “I want to do what’s right, but  _ he _ always makes it seem wrong. No matter what I do, he twists my actions, my words…” How can he do right by Papy? He already helps as much as he’s able, but it seems like Papy never even notices these days. His attention is always on… well.

_ It’s always on Crim _ , Sans thinks to himself with a frown, not wanting to utter his name aloud in this private sanctuary of his.

Alphys said to spend more time with him, and that’s a brilliant idea. But there’s still a tiny thorn of doubt in Sans’ chest that worries it won’t be enough. What if he can’t be as entertaining as Crim? He knows Papy liked going to the Snail Farm when they were kids. It was one of the only things they could do together without arguing. Mostly because they always betted on the same snails, but also how they raged over how unfair it was that the snails weren’t trained to handle the stress of hearing the spectators cheer them on. They always lost their money and it was never fair, and they made sure to tell the handlers about it. But they always walked away laughing.  _ Finally _ they had something to agree on. Reminiscing on it while finishing up the last of his by now cold tea, Sans remembers never feeling closer to his brother than during those trips to the Snail Farm. 

But the creeping doubt lingers: what if Papy doesn’t like it anymore? Sans has to make an emergency plan, just in case.

He spends all morning working on it in his head while preparing their lunches. Since they’re going to be in Waterfall regardless, he supposes they could always go a little bit further than the Snail Farm. Maybe not  _ too _ far, though. He scrunches up his nasal ridge as he spreads honey over Papy’s sandwich. The snowmelt season in Waterfall is already well underway, and getting lost in the evening fog isn’t something he wants to deal with. He’s a fairly good tracker and knows his way around, but even he can’t be safe when it comes to the shifting islands. And not to mention the strength and unpredictability of the currents...

Maybe they could go fishing? It’s not too strenuous so Papy should be able to do it for a while without getting tired and-

His phone interrupts his planning. It takes him a second to dig it out from underneath the bag of bread and he hurries to answer it the moment it’s in his hand.

“Hey Papy!” Sans says immediately. He squeezes the phone between his shoulder and jaw so he can keep packing the lunch. “I’m just finishing up our lunch. I’ll be done in about ten minutes and then I’ll be right there-”

“Yeah… Bro, about that…” Sharp, hard dread tightens in Sans’ chest at Papy’s tone and his breath hitches. He knows it too well and it chills him to the core, just as it did the first time he heard it 10 years ago when his brother told him their mom was gone. Something bad is about to happen and Sans can’t stop himself from panicking when hearing that hesitation in Papy’s voice again. He’s learned to fear it, learned that it means pain and that he needs to shield himself against it or it’ll break him. 

So when his brother starts explaining with an increasingly upbeat tone to his voice, it takes Sans a few moments to realize that his panic is unnecessary.

“... and I said yes. I figured we could use the gold-” 

“What?” Sans stops him, unable to keep the bite out of his voice. “Could you please repeat that?”

“I said yes to helping Crim with a job for the Riverperson because I figured we could use the extra gold?” Papy repeats, and there’s a touch of heistance in his tone. At Sans’ silence, Papy talks a little faster to fill the void in the conversation. “I’m building a shack so people have a place to wait without being out in the cold. It’s actually a, uh, pretty hot concept?” Even when the joke doesn’t elicit so much as a chuckle from Sans, he keeps pressing on. “It uh… it means Snowdin can get more tourists from the other zones because Crim’s making these stations all over town where they can heat up. So even if it’s a monster that doesn’t do well in the cold, they’ll be able to visit anyway.”

“Okay,” Sans says with forced calm. He rubs a hand over his face and sighs with a small headshake. He has an idea where this is going, and the crushing disappointment is already creeping up on him. “Why are you telling me this now? You could just have told me when we got to the Snail Farm.”

“Crim is doing the job right now,” Papy explains, that touch of nervousness still in his voice. “As in  _ right _ now. And building the shack is going to take time. I already made the blueprints and the dogs delivered the wood yesterday. If we don’t get this constructed, the wood might be discolored or start bending out of shape because of the humidity after the warmer weather we’ve had, and that’s a lot of gold to waste. So it kinda has to be today and I didn’t think of that until Crim reminded me just now.”

“You’re cancelling,” Sans concludes for him. 

“Yeah,” Papy says, and there’s a sigh of relief on the other end of the line, like the fact that Sans had said it first made it okay. “I figured we could just do it another day. It’s not like the Snail Farm is going anywhere, right?” He says it so easily, like it’s no big deal. Sans looks at the sandwiches and lovingly cut veggies lying on the table and thinks about the fishing equipment in the closet he was going to grab before leaving. He thinks about his list of conversation topics and the ideas for other bonding days he wanted to suggest to Papy later and he feels like crying. Because… because what does it matter if it’s all so easily brushed off?

Once again, Crim wins.

“Right,” is all he can say in answer. Because Papy is right: the Snail Farm will be there later too, but that wasn’t the point of today! Of course Papy doesn’t know that. He probably doesn’t even feel the ever expanding void that’s been between them since Crim showed up, isn’t bothered by it in the slightest. Because he has Crim now and Papy still doesn’t stop to  _ think _ about the consequences of his actions; that he’s throwing away all the people in his life for Crim. Sans isn’t blind to the fact that Papy doesn’t spend as much time at the café with Muffet as he used to, but can always be found staring at his phone with a smile if Crim isn’t right beside him. 

Classic Papy, forgetting to actually  _ think, _ and stalwartly ignorant that, one day, Crim will leave without looking back. Sans knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’ll forget they even exist without even the slightest shred of guilt. He’ll be leaving Papy behind and utterly devastated without a thought, because Papy is naive enough to trust him. He slotted Crim into the center of his life, like he’s the brightest star that everyone wishes upon, and he’s willing to do anything to keep him there.

Sans’ hand tightens around his phone, and he hears the plastic creak quietly in warning.

It just- It makes Sans  _ so fucking furious. _ How  _ dare _ Crim do this to his brother? Crim  _ knew _ today was  _ theirs _ . Even if Papy had forgotten to tell him, Sans knows he heard them talking, he’s sure of it! He knew Sans had planned for them to spend it together, and what does Crim do? Ruins it by manipulating Papy to cancel, without Papy even realizing he’s being manipulated! And Sans can’t-

“I’m sorry bro,” Papy says, interrupting his thoughts. The apology, once it registers, weaves in one side of Sans’ skull and out the other. “I know you’ve already made lunch, but we can have that for dinner instead, right?”

“Yes,” Sans says mechanically. “Of course.”

_ “Slick! Get off the damn phone and come help me lift this!”  _ Sans hears Crim shout in the background. 

“Bro, I gotta - shit! You idiot! Don’t lift that by yourself!”

_ “Then get off your fucking phone and come help me, asshole!”  _

There’s a long-suffering sigh from Papy’s end. “I gotta go. I’ll see you later, alright?” 

“Yes, see you-” There’s a familiar  _ click _ and the sounds from the phone cut off. “At home…” 

Sans slowly lowers the phone and stares at Papy’s number until it dims into black screen, and keeps staring as something new begins pushing at his soul. The feeling scares him. He recognizes the burn of anger, the heat of it as it grows and the feeling of losing control. He clenches his hands in an attempt to keep himself calm, but the tiny  _ crack _ from his phone still in his hand marks the moment his control snaps. 

In a fit of sudden rage he throws the phone across the room. The sound of it smashing against the wall and breaking to pieces is drowned by the loud scream of frustration bursting out of him. He barely even registers that he drags his hands and arms over the counter, pushing both food, cutting board and knives off it. It all falls to the floor in a huge mess and Sans feels a sharp pain blossom in his forearm where one of the knives manages to cut him. He can’t even feel bad for what he just did, can’t even begin to think of the consequences and how much gold he just wasted. He wants to keep destroying, wants to hit something until his hands bleed and break and his anger suffocates under the pain.

But he doesn’t move. He knows that if he does, he’ll lose whatever pathetic shreds of his control he still has within his grasp. Air rushes through him almost faster than his rage does, but it does nothing but fuel the fire inside him. He stands there, eyes furiously bright and his bones rattling, staring at the ruined lunch and his broken phone and he just feels  _ so angry. _ All of this is so unfair and Sans has had  _ ENOUGH! _ He has been nice and reasonable. He has been understanding and taken the high road. He has tried to find a peaceful solution to their problems, but Crim has time and time again proven that he doesn’t  _ want _ to find a way. He has laughed at Sans’ attempts and disrespected his hospitality, his kindness and his generosity for the last time. Crim doesn’t want to try to make things work and Sans is  _ done _ being a victim of his cruelty. 

If it’s war he wants, Sans will give him war. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ## Next update is on Sunday the 4th of February 2018.
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	16. Shackles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to yet another chapter! Today we have a few trigger warnings again, so here we go:
> 
> ## TRIGGER WARNING! Description of heavy mental illness!!
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## ~ Chapter Sixteen ~  
Shackles

  

_“A brand new start and a goodbye. We fall apart just to come alive.”_

\- Bebo Norman

  _Suggested reading music for this chapter:  
_[_Hans Zimmer - A Way of Life_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0AC4ovCUs4Y)

* * *

It’s early afternoon in Snowdin. A soft breeze that curls through the quiet forest, carrying with it the sounds of muffled creaking and rustling branches. The faint clamor of bustling life from the town sits as unwelcome static in the background, almost too hushed to hear but present to Crim nonetheless, hiding just underneath the trickle of the nearby stream.

He hasn’t grown used to it, the amount of noise in this universe. It’s almost funny, honestly. For someone so used to noise - the sounds of monsters chatting, the knocking of someone doing home repairs, the piercing cry of someone’s kid, the constant crunch of counted footsteps, the definitive ratcheting of doorknobs opening - being a herald of trouble, it’s impossible for him to completely tune out the occasional bang or raised voice even when it’s completely ignored by everyone else around him. He knows why, now. It’s taken him awhile, but it’s easy for him to see it: It’s him, not them. They all have some kind of unspoken knowledge in this place that he doesn’t, a kind of security in their view of others that he can’t share. He wasn’t raised to expect the best of people; only to try to live with them on his own terms.

It’s why places like this are so important to him that they’ve nearly taken on a sacred aspect to his mental wellbeing. He craves the silence and the comfort it brings to his soul to know that he’s alone and no one can bother him here.

So, he sits on the stump in his little refuge clearing, surrounded by the tall pines and thick shrubbery and listens to the flow of icy water reaching him through the trees as he mulls over his day.

He’d gotten up pretty early - he’d tended to wake earlier than Blue out of habit even before he even started taking house calls. After leaving the two others a warm breakfast in the oven - he’d taken up some chores around the house on Blue’s insistence - there had been an uninteresting jaunt to Waterfall to change a filter on someone’s AC unit and had ended up realigning the fans as well. It had taken longer than he’d expected due to the rust and decay of the older model, but he’d gotten paid extra for eliminating the grating noise it had been making. For a change of pace, he’d flipped a few gold and gotten lunch and cheap, fresh produce directly from a few of the Waterfall farmers - it was his turn to get groceries anyway, another of Blue’s demands - but by the time he’d gotten home to put them away, Blue was thankfully still out and Slick was probably at his sentry station.

Crim checks the time on his phone real quick. No new texts, so Slick has probably fallen asleep at his post again. No surprise there, but it also gives him no good reason to cut this short. Places like this one - out of the way places that are so close to identical with his universe - are actually harder to find than he’d originally thought. He’s only found a handful of them in total, and he’s kept them pretty strictly under wraps, even from Slick. This one in particular is so close to a spot he’d frequented in his own that it might as well have been the same place, down to the smoothed edges of the stump.

He’s found it to be a good place to visit when he needed time to think, or some natural white noise to _drown out_ his thoughts. Today, it’s neither of those things. For the first time in awhile, he feels fairly content. Relaxed, even. It’s an odd sort of warmly lethargic sensation that settles in his bones and allows him to appreciate the atmosphere for what it is: serene. Peaceful. He relishes it despite the constant nag of underlying guilt. Just as he’s thinking he can get used to this, he hears the crunch of way-too-close footsteps on his left.

Crim nearly has a heart attack despite lacking the organ. “Th’FUCK-” He’s on his feet in a moment, magic snapping into its ready state automatically as his anxiety spikes, but as he whirls to face the threat, he sees a flash of orange clothing. It makes him pause before he fully commits to the teleport at his fingertips.

His fingers twitch with the unspent magic, and he aims a scowl at the shocked look of the taller skeleton. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to having another teleporter around. If nothing else, this universe has gifted him with a sizable amount of empathy for how much grief he’s given his brother over the course of years due to the ability.

“Fuck, Slick! Would it fucking kill you to give me some warning!?” Crim snaps, eyes still blazing.

“Probably not, but I didn’t expect you here,” Slick says, holding up his hands in front of him defensively and looking just as surprised as Crim is. “Sorry.”

The apology mollifies him a bit, and with a grumbling sigh, Crim returns to his seat.

“Hey,” Slick starts again. “Can I sit?”

“You just spent six hours sitting while I’ve been doin’ shit all day,” Crim says, deadpan. He gives Slick an unsympathetic look. “Your ass can survive standing.”

“There’s room for two, though,” he insists, “if you just scoot forward a bit.”

“How about no?” Crim sounds mildly offended, even to himself. He was here first, and he isn’t about to move. This place is _his._ “Rule of shotgun, asshole. Find your own fucking stump.”

The look on Slick’s face doesn’t seem put off at all. “But this one has the best view,” he says airily as he walks out of Crim’s line of vision.

“Well, guess what? Too fucking bad. It’s occupieeEEY!” Crim’s protest is cut off by the other’s back shoving him forward a few inches. Snow piles up on the toes of his boots as he fails to hold his ground. Slick doesn’t knock him off, but he’s forced to lean back to get comfortable… which puts the two of them spine to spine. He jabs a weak elbow into the other’s ribcage in an act of defiance.

“You lazy fucker,” he growls, but the tone has no heat behind it. He honestly doesn’t mind having a backrest. Slick doesn’t seem the least bit apologetic this time, instead humming a pleased sigh as he slouches against Crim. He can feel the other’s back radiating warmth even though the multiple layers of clothing between them. Once again, he’s struck by just how casually trusting Slick is.

“This is way more comfortable than the sentry station,” he says with satisfaction, and his voice has that easy, light timbre that tells Crim he’s been having a good day. “Uh, by the way, thanks for breakfast. Your waffles are always the best.”

Crim clears his throat at the compliment. “It’s nothin’. Least I can do, considering.”

“Well yeah, but you could just as easily have done nothing and we would still let you stay.” He can feel the movement of the material behind him as Slick shrugs. “So, you know, thanks. I really appreciate it, and so does my bro.”

Crim stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets and scuffs the heel of one boot into the earlier tracks he’d made. "Eh, I try not to do anything half-baked,” he says a bit too casually.

It’s a slow reaction. He feels it in the way Slick stiffens ever so slightly against his back before he leans forward, presumably to cover his teeth. “Right, ‘cause you don’t want a batter or worse result.”

“Sometimes you gotta rise to the occasion,” Crim drawls in a shitty imitation of the other, and it earns him an only partially stifled guffaw from Slick.

“Yeah, but that’s the yeast of your problems,” he returns, which makes Crim produce a wide grin. Oh ho. It’s _on_ . “You _knead_ to keep going against the grain, right?”

“S’better than loafing around like you. _Hah_. You think baking puns are your allies? You merely adopted the recipe. I was dough to them; rolled by them. I didn’t see an oven until I was already a man, and by then they were nothing to me but,” he pauses for effect, “ _rye_ _humor._ ”

Slick is laughing before he’s even made it halfway through. “W-was,” his voice cracks on the first word and he takes a breath, trying again. “Was that a Bane quote?”

“Damn straight it was,” Crim replies, simultaneously proud of himself and mortified that he was able to recall the whole thing well enough to bastardize it. He’s only seen the movie twice, and despite it skipping in a couple places, he’s taken a real shine to it.

“Hu-uh,” Slick says, somehow infusing that one word with a hefty amount of respect. “Well, uh, shit. I’m stumped.”

This is too easy. “Then between you, me, and our seat, we make a treesome.”

There’s exactly two seconds of silence before both of them erupt into raucous laughter. The sound peals through the forest as Crim leans forward to clutch at his stomach. It lasts longer than either expects it to, as each time they both seems ready to stop, a snort or a wheeze sends them spiralling right back into hysterics. As the noise finally dies down - mostly due to the two of them gasping for air - they lean against each other heavily with their own respective sighs. Crim feels like he’s split a rib, but it’s a good pain. He doesn’t remember the last time he'd laughed like that, and he sure as hell didn’t know Slick could crank his volume that high.

“Thanks, Crim,” comes the soft voice from behind him. He doesn’t need to see it to know that Slick has one of those rare, genuinely contented smiles plastered across his face.

Left light-headed and wearing a satisfied grin of his own, Crim shifts more of his reclining weight towards his right shoulderblade. Slick adjusts automatically to accommodate him, pressing more towards his left. On a whim, he looks back. Peering over his right shoulder, he can just barely make out the side of the other’s face. Sure, he doesn’t need to see it, but he wants to.

Slick is flushed, smiling like he’d just witnessed a sun that had risen only for him, and seemingly content with watching his own cloudy breath curl and disappear into the black backdrop of Snowdin pines. It’s happiness captured in a physical form, and one of the most beautiful things Crim has ever seen. As he stares, he feels a very particular and by now familiar thickness in his soul and over the course of a few seconds... it lodges itself in his throat. It doesn’t disappear when he turns back around.

_Shit._

As he flattens himself once again against Slick’s back, he’s very aware of how the other moves to support him. He swallows needlessly, but it doesn’t help. Luckily, the other doesn’t seem to notice Crim’s entirely new bout of anxiety. Instead, Slick breathes a quiet, peaceful sigh that Crim can feel up and down his spine. That sound - that unconditional _trust_ \- is twisting his soul into knots.

_Ooooh shit._

And he knows. Suddenly he _knows,_ and it’s _terrifying._ He doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t need it and he doesn’t know what to do with it, but…

_Fuck._

He’s in _way_ too deep.

The warmth pressed against his back feels wrong all of a sudden. The curve of Slick’s spine pressing against his own makes him shudder, the closeness growing far too intimate. Slick’s quiet breaths turns static, buzzing loudly in the quiet of their little secret hideout. It’s as if someone snapped their fingers and the calm that had descended evaporates, the air and the silence between them shifts suddenly, turning heavy and stifling. The buzz of static roots itself in Crim’s body and suddenly, he can’t be here anymore.

He pushes himself off the stump and walks away, avoiding the look Slick sends him. He feels it burn against the side of his face anyway, so he clears his throat, trying to force the knot in his chest to loosen so he can breathe.

“Client,” he lies, answering the unspoken question with a voice full of gravel.

His answer makes Slick smile again. It feels like he’s burning alive when he glances at it, so he rips his gaze away, looking towards the forest instead so he can take a few calming breaths.

“Okay, see you later,” Slick just says, without hesitation and no hint of distrust. The words pinch Crim’s soul, but all he can do is walk away so he doesn’t have to see Slick claiming the other half of the stump, leaning back on his elbows and making himself comfortable.

Without another word, Crim wraps his magic around himself. He needs distance, needs _peace and quiet_ . He needs to _think_.

He ends up in another corner of the Snowdin cave, landing just a few feet away from the edges of the frozen lake. With no monster in sight, Crim lets himself have a moment to freak out.

 _What the hell is he doing?!_ How could he have been this _stupid_?

He can’t let this Stars-damned farce continue any longer. He’s getting _complacent_ in this pretty little fairy dream world _._ But even worse than that, he feels like he’s been steadily growing dull, like a knife left out to rust.

There’s no bite; no cut left in his actions. It’s being leached out of him slowly but surely by the genuine calm and peace that comprises this universe’s way of life.

It has to be today, he tells himself. He repeats it in his head over and over with the intent to make himself believe it. He drills it into his skull that it’s his fear of the next try ending up exactly like the first that’s caused his procrastination and not another, even more terrifying reason.

His fingers dig into the shirt over his stomach. He definitely has more than enough magic - he could probably make the jump twice over, and he _should,_ considering how fucking close he is to having to buy new clothes and to choking on the dread squeezing his soul flat in his chest. He can’t wait any longer. _He has to go home._

* * *

There’s no getting through the rest of the afternoon without someone noticing there’s something off about him, although Crim tries his hardest to pretend nothing has changed. He knows his answers are too clipped and his smile too stiff, but no matter what he does, he can’t shake the panic in his soul or the nerves frizzling in his body. When a client asks for the third time if he’s okay, he gives them an honest answer and makes up an excuse to leave.

He cancels the rest of his appointments for the day.

There’s a far away, vacated spot in the forest. It’s another one of the handful of likenesses he’d found, if much grimmer than the stump and clearing.

It’s a barren, bleak place, full of ice and bare branches poking out of the frozen ground and the ragged cliff sides on either side of a wide valley. There are layers upon layers of weeks old crispy, icy snow covering everything and long icicles hanging from rocks and dangling branches. The frosty layer of ice cracks under Crim’s boots as he walks through the area, the crunch of his footsteps echo between the walls of stone and hollow trunks of trees.

Similar to his own world, there was a fire here. Wild, uncontrollable flames that turned a once beautiful refuge into a smoldering graveyard. A blizzard must have blown past soon after, its wind kicking up the melted snow-water from the ground and coating the surroundings in it. It encased all the exposed, raw and charred trees in [ thick, unclear ice spikes ](http://cdn.earthporm.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/mount-javornik-slovenia-winter-photography-marko-korosec-2.jpg). Like the corpses of fallen warriors cast in blackened wood, they’re scattered everywhere, displaying their bodies in brittle tombs.

It’s an uncomfortable place, a painful reminder of just how fragile their home is, and as Crim suspected, no one in this world comes near it either. There’s nothing beautiful about it now, only the memory of the death and destruction a human’s ignorance can bring. Crim wonders if it was the same green-souled brat that burned this place down, just like in his world. He remembers watching his teenage brother fight in between the roaring flames and glowing embers, eventually tearing that human to pieces and claiming their soul. That was the kill that earned his brother his place in the Guard and Crim had never been more terrified, or more proud, in his life.

He finds a place among the ice spikes and he sits for hours with a blank expression, desperately trying to keep his mind empty. The icy air finds a way through his thick clothes during the time he’s sitting there. At some point new, soft flakes of snow start falling and he’s soon covered by a fine layer that he doesn’t bother shaking off.

When the cave starts turning dark and the phone in his pocket has stopped vibrating, Crim finally lets himself think of home.

It’s painful. His hands curl into fists and unclench in a steady pattern while he tries to focus his mind and see his world before his inner eye. He needs the darkness and the familiar desolation around him to help guide his thoughts, to drown out the bright version of Snowdin and channel the dark and gloomy one.

“Come on, you can do it,” he mumbles to himself. The feeling he’s trying to recreate doesn’t come easily. All he’s able to pull out at a moment’s notice is the thick, devouring feeling of guilt that fills his soul when he thinks about Papyrus. The sharp anger, the heavy disappointment, the tearing agony of hearing his brother confirm his worst fears just won’t come. He thinks it’s because he’s already accepted it: He knows it’s his fault and he can’t be mad anymore. Papyrus had every right to act and say the things he did.

“Piece of cake,” he lies to himself. “Just do it.” He forces down his anxiety and lets the awful feeling in his soul fill him. After a couple more deep breaths, he pulls at his magic, allowing his soul to drain the magic storage on his body. Soon he’s buzzing with power and he releases it all at once, aiming for his sentry tower in the forest, hoping that it’ll provide a tiny bit of protection when he arrives drained of magic and on the brink of passing out.

With a loud _crack_ , he steps through the teleport. His soul protests under the strain of the rapid drain of magic, but he grits his teeth and endures the feeling.

He expects to hit a wooden floor a second after he starts falling, but he doesn’t. His eyes fly open just in time to see the top of a huge pinetree flash by before he hits one of its upper branches. He keeps falling, crashing into branch after branch, his weight making them snap like twigs as he tumbles down. The branches get more and more solid the further he falls, and soon his upper body crashes into one that won’t give under his weight. He only _just_ manages to curl his fingers around the thinner end and wrap an elbow around the branch before he falls off it. A shower of pine needles rain down over him as he dangles from it, a mix of shock and fear forcing his soul to stutter painfully in his chest.

He hauls himself up over the branch, hooking a leg over it so he’s sure he won’t drop off once he moves his arms. He lets his forehead rest on the rough surface, a curse burning in the back of his throat. The pain from his impact sneaks up on him moments later, making himt tremble against the bark. His jacket and clothes are full of small tears and pine needles. The exposed bones underneath are covered in scrapes and cuts that sting like a bitch, but it’s nothing compared to the stabbing pain in his ribs.

 _“Fuck.”_ Fighting the disappointment threatening to overtake him, he presses a hand against his side where he landed on the branch to asses the damage. The pain is bad, but it’s not too concerning. He’s got a bent rib most likely, or perhaps a cracked one if he’s _really_ unlucky. Either way, it’s nothing to worry about at the moment. He’ll live.

There’s no need to look around. He knows he’s not back in his own world. His sentry tower should be here, but it’s not and that can only mean one thing.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, that ain’t good enough.” He drains the last of his storages and spends almost every single drop of magic on his next teleport. This time he aims for his bedroom, the only other safe place he knows he can land in his world. But despite it _feeling_ like he jumps through the void, he knows the second he crash-lands on a carpeted floor that he didn’t make it.

“Crim, what the hell?!” The squeak from the bed as Slick jumps out of it and rushes to his side confirms Crim’s worst fears. He has gone nowhere.

Warm hands grab at his shoulders and Crim hears the quiet, familiar hum of Slick’s soul in front of him, so close he can almost feel it. “Crim?” Slick’s hands slide away from his shoulders just to end up on his cheeks. A gentle push brings them face to face, but he squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t face Slick and his worried expression anymore than he can bear the thought of letting Slick see the tears pressing behind his closed sockets.

“Hey, come on buddy, you gotta help me out here.” Slick’s voice shakes with uncertainty. A careful thumb brushes over one of Crim’s sockets, pushing through the wetness seeping through. “I don’t wanna Judge you without your go-ahead but I need to make sure you’re not dusting. You’re pretty banged up.” He tries to turn his head away, but is stopped by Slick’s hold. When he can’t escape, he instead shakes his head. He doesn’t want Slick to poke around inside his soul. Not now. It’s already so fragile, so sensitive.

“Just need to see those eyelights,” Slick explains in the face of Crim’s denial. ‘ _To make sure my magic is still strong enough to keep me alive’_ Crim’s mind helpfully offers as an explanation. It’s better than a Judge, even though it means letting Slick see his pain.

His eyes crack open and he looks up to find Slick’s face hovering inches from his own. Slick offers him a tiny, strained smile as a greeting while his eyelights flicker from side to side. There’s no way of hiding the tears that spill over as soon as his eyes open, and Slick’s already worried expression turns downright heartbroken when he undoubtedly sees the pain hiding in his gaze.

“Oh, Crim,” he whispers softly, his thumbs brushing over Crim’s cheeks again, wiping away the tear streaks. “What happened?” The question causes a new wave of despair to crash over him, reminding him of his failure. He looks away, eyes closing and head shaking again. He doesn’t want to answer that question, doesn’t want to think about it. To avoid it, he crawls into Slick’s lap and hides his face in his shirt without thinking, hoping he can hide from the truth just a little longer. He does it without thinking, like it’s instinct and it probably shocks him just as much as it does Slick, but there’s no hesitation when Slick’s arms wrap around him, holding him close. He just lets Crim spill his sorrow all over him without a word, hushing him softly. He lets Crim press his face against his chest, inches from his soul like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Instead of shaking in fear, Slick starts rocking slightly from side to side, trying to comfort him.

There’s a few moments of silence where the only sounds in the room are Crim’s pathetic, hushed whines as he desperately tries to keep himself together. The constant, soft swaying from side to side paired with being held so tightly actually helps, much to Crim’s surprise, and when a tiny, broken sob escapes him, he feels safe enough to let out another.

After a couple of minutes, he feels Slick suddenly still. He sits like a statue as seconds pass and when he finally speaks, it’s in a quiet whisper, like he’s afraid hearing the words will make them true. “You tried to leave again.” It’s a simple statement, but the way he says it makes the whole difference. There’s _hurt_ laced through every word he speaks, a fragile disappointment that punches through Crim’s soul like a stake.

Guilt erupts in him, stronger than ever before. The unspoken “but you didn’t even say goodbye” makes him ache in ways he didn’t think possible, because he didn’t, he _couldn’t_ . He was so afraid that he wouldn’t be able to leave if he did, but now he failed _again_ . He didn’t just fail himself and his brother, no - he’d failed Slick too and that realization is too much to bear. The last of the restraint balancing on the edge of his fingertips is ripped away from his desperate hold and Crim _breaks._

There’s nothing pretty about it. It’s loud, gross and pathetic. He cries loudly, voice cracking and his body losing all strength. Instead of letting him go, Slick pulls him even closer, curls his fingers into the dirty, wet jacket Crim’s still wearing and he presses his face into Crim’s shoulder.

Crim has no strength left to pull free, nor any to hide himself away. He can't make heads or tails of the thoughts or emotions overwhelming him. All he can do is ride the waves of agony as they come.

He’s not sure when Slick moves them to the bed. He doesn’t feel himself being lifted and carried or process when Slick removes his wet clothes and wraps him in blankets and then his own body to comfort him and give him a place to hide. It’s first when he runs out of tears and he’s struggling to get his breathing under control that he realizes he’s being fiercely cuddled, and at that point he has no energy left to be upset about it. He’s surprised to find that he feels comfortable and _safe_ pressed so close to Slick that he can literally feel their souls vibrate up against each other, only the hard shell of their ribs keeping them from physically touching.

“I’m not mad at you,” Slick says quietly a while after Crim has calmed down completely.

The words stab at his already bruised soul and a wave of self loathing washes over him again. “I am,” he says darkly. Right at this moment, he hates himself. Hates his recklessness, his stupidity, his inability to keep himself in line. He has failed again and again and he still keeps trying instead of just admitting defeat. He fucked up royally and there’s no way to fix it. And now, in his pathetic attempt to do so, he ended up failing again and hurting someone he’s come to care about, despite trying so hard not to.

“I know,” is Slicks response. It’s soft, sad, like the truthfulness of it hurts him. Crim expects him to continue, but there’s nothing. Just soft breaths and Slick tightening the hug. It gives Crim a facefull of his t-shirt and without meaning to, he breathes in his scent, lets it flush through him. He doesn’t know what hurts the most: The fact that Slick’s scent has become comforting to him or that he feels like he’s taking advantage of him. He’s just comforting Crim. It means nothing else to him and no manner of wishful thinking can make that any less true.

“You not gonna tell me it’s not my fault?” Crim asks bitterly.

“Would you believe me if I did?” Slick asks back, completely surprising Crim again. Why can’t he ever act like a normal monster? Why does he keep being so _nice_ and weird and wonderful?

His answer is curt. “No.”

“Then I won’t say it yet,” Slick says like it makes perfect sense, but Crim doesn’t understand. Why is he waiting? What good does that do? It will still mean the same later and Crim will still refuse to believe it.

Crim doesn’t ask. He doesn’t know how to and he’s not sure he even wants the answer if he could get it. So he lets the silence stretch between them and lets their breaths be the only sounds in the room for a while. He expects to feel uncomfortable by being so close after some time, but the feeling never comes. He feels himself wanting to get closer instead and it scares him how hard it is to keep himself from nuzzling closer and never letting go. He has to remind himself again and again that this means nothing, that Slick is just being nice and that if he knew what thoughts are stuck in Crim’s head he would be disgusted. Crim literally looks like his brother and he knows he’s wrong in the head. He must be. Why else would he be feeling this way?

Stars, he’s so tired of _feeling!_ The tears are running again and he has no chance of hiding them. He’s so confused, overwhelmed and he just want it to fucking stop so he can _think_.

“Is it easier?” Crim asks. The words come with a hushed suddenness, catching even him by surprise. With his face hidden away in Slick’s t-shirt, it’s a miracle Slick even hears him.

“What do you mean?” Slick mumbles back.

“Is feeling nothin’ easier?” he elaborates.

“You mean is it easier than feeling everything?” Slick thinks out loud. Crim nods. “No,” he answers immediately. “It’s not.”

Crim’s fingers tighten around the handfuls of Slick’s t-shirt he’s holding on to. He tries to make the “why” echoing in his head leave his mouth, but it gets stuck between his teeth. Instead, Crim nuzzles a bit closer. He barely even knows why he asked. Maybe he just wants some kind of confirmation that it’s okay to suppress the emotions ripping at his soul. Maybe he just wants a distraction and it was all he could think of.

Slick answers his silent question. “It’s never all gone,” he starts softly in a voice that sounds far too vulnerable. Despite its quietness, it sends chills down Crim’s spine and makes his metaphorical hairs stand on end. His strangely soft and intimate tone makes Crim feel like he’s being told a secret.

“You’re aware that it’s just… numbed. The first sign is that the world starts feeling too big and too complicated. Looking away becomes tempting, even when it’s the people closest to you that’s hurting. After some time it’s just…” He pauses briefly, trying to find the words. He continues with a small shrug. “... the norm, I guess. It’s your new default. Not caring is how you live. You see the signs of life breaking apart around you, but the way you see the world has changed. Your ability to read and understand those signs is just gone. You ignored it for so long it went dormant.”

His voice becomes impossibly more fragile when he continues. “Pain becomes bland. Easy. Soon it’s the only thing that slips through that shield of numbness you have wrapped yourself in. It becomes the only thing bringing colors to a grey world. You start craving it just to feel _something_.”

“Then you start losing interest in conversations, want to be alone more. It’s easier that way at first. There’s less expectations and no one to hassle you about the stuff you’re supposed to do. That stuff that you once loved, but suddenly can’t remember why you enjoyed doing. After awhile it becomes almost rewarding. Being alone with the emptiness starts feeling euphoric. Orgasmic. You crave it, but don’t know why. You know it’s wrong, that it’s a sign of _you_ being wrong, but you just ignore it because it feels too good. It feels safe and comforting and you so desperately need a place where you can feel okay.”

“After that it’s all just... darkness. The safety of being alone vanishes little by little and it leaves you with this… this deep _void_ inside that nothing can fill. Your body is moving on its own, going through the routines of life without you, and you never really understand how much you are hurting the people you love.”

“It’s never really gone,” Slick repeats after a short minute of silence, “but _by the Stars_ you wish it was. It’s the _only_ constant. The desire to never feel doesn’t vanish. It stays inside your chest even when everything else is locked away, and it _aches_ , like an infected wound that’s being picked at all the time. It hurts so much. It needs a lot of care and time to heal, but you just keep grinding salt into the wound by doing what feels good, because you think it’s what you so desperately need to make it heal. You never realize you’re actually hurting yourself more that way, because you can’t understand what _feeling good_ is anymore. And when you finally realize that you’re just an empty shell of who you used to be… It’s too late. You’re already gone. And you’re _terrified_ of the dark abyss that’s waiting for you to finally give up for good.”

“Shit…” Crim forces out, the tight feeling in his chest making it almost impossible to breathe. His sockets sting, tears welling up. That _pain_ in Slick’s voice, the echoes of how much shit he must have been through, how much he must have been hurting before it got this bad, and how lonely he must have felt when no one noticed fast enough to help him. It must have felt like the whole world became a stranger and turned its back on him.

Crim doesn’t want anything to do with that. He’ll take this emotional hell over that and suddenly he’s so so happy he asked instead of just doing it.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “Fuck Slick, that’s so… I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m sorry…”

“Shh,” Slick hushes him. He nuzzles his cheek against Crim’s skull and he keeps murmuring soft, comforting noises.

The sobs tearing out of him after that are impossible to stop. Slick doesn’t say anything when he hears the first few escape him, just like he doesn’t say anything when Crim muffles them by pressing his face against his chest. Slick just tightens his arms around him and draws him into another hug.

* * *

When he wakes, he’s not surprised to find himself still wrapped in Slick’s limbs. The house is quiet, but the room is bathed in soft light, so they must have slept right through the morning and Blue leaving for work.

For a moment he lets himself be completely vulnerable. He happily soaks in the feeling of _safe_ , _home_ and _love_ , the weight of Slick’s limbs around his body making him feel like he’s soaring through the air on newly sprouted wings, instead of being bound by the heavy chains of his failures, limited and stuck. With his face pressed against Slick’s chest and with his scent filling his nose, Crim can let himself pretend that this is normal. That he can wake up everyday to find himself in Slick’s embrace, safe and hidden away from a cruel world.

 

Crim is surprised that his silly daydream makes him feel powerful in a way he has never experienced before. He feels stronger by just thinking about having Slick permanently in his life, someone that makes the fight worth fighting, someone he can love and comfort and protect - and who will willingly do the same for Crim just because he loves him. It feels so _right_ that he has to pull himself away from Slick and shut out the image of the two of them sharing sleepy morning kisses, or he risks getting so lost in the dream that he _actually_ ends up kissing Slick.

Pulling away accidentally ends up jostling Slick enough that he wakes up. He’s disoriented for a few seconds after his sockets crack open before his eyelights focus on Crim’s face mere inches away. As soon as he recognizes him, Slick smiles in a way that punches the air right out of Crim. It’s just so _happy_. Without saying anything, Slick pulls Crim closer and sleepily nuzzles against him with a soft little hum.

“Morning,” he mumbles, the words leaving him in a long, content sigh.

At first Crim can’t get any words to leave him. He has to take a deep breath, filling himself with Slick’s scent again. He swallows thickly, eyes closing and fingers gripping handfuls of Slick’s shirt. “M-mornin’.”

“How’re you feeling?” Slick asks. He brushes a hand over Crim skull and down his back in a caress.

“Like crap,” Crim answers. “Like someone smashed a hammer in my face.” Slick hums a quick, quiet laugh.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he says. “That’s what crying all night does to you.”

Guilt and shame fill him. He can’t believe he let himself break in front of Slick like that. Stars, Slick must think he’s so pathetic, crying like a bitch over something that’s purely his own fault. He was too Stars-damned stupid to find a way home, and instead of taking the consequences of his stupidity like an adult, he acted like a child.

“Listen, Slick-”

“Shh shh shh.” Slick hugs him. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Crim says anyway. “It was shitty showing up here like that and ruining your night with my-”

“Crim,” Slick cuts him off harshly. He pulls back. Crim takes the opportunity to put a bit of space between them, hoping it will help calm the feelings roaring inside him. “You don’t have to say sorry for that. Of course I’ll be here if you need me.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with my crap,” Crim says.

“Like you dealt with mine that time with Undyne?” Slick reminds him. “Or the countless other times where I acted stupid and needed someone to kick my butt back into line?”

“But you got a good reason…” he mutters.

“And you don’t?”

“It’s my own damn fault, Slick. I did it to myself and I should just fuckin’ deal with the consequences of my screw up.”

“I could say the same,” Slick says. “It isn’t like anyone forced me into this. I did it myself.”

“But that’s different!”

“How?” Slick challenges him. “How is it different?”

Crim opens his mouth to answer, but realizes that he has no good answer. He looks into Slick’s eyes and he’s at a loss for words. He can’t explain to Slick why it’s different, because no matter what, he knows Slick will say it’s not his fault. Crim can’t find a single good argument.

He closes his mouth again. He tries to look away, but Slick captures a cheek in his hand and makes Crim look at him.

“You tried,” Slick says. “And it’s okay that it failed. It’s not your fault.”

“My bro won’t see it like that,” Crim says quietly. Slick’s expression hardens.

“Then he doesn’t deserve to have you back.” Slick sighs when Crim looks away. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine,” Crim tells him. “It’s doesn’t matter if he deserves it or not. I can’t go back.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

“I can’t. I tried everything. I’ve been trying for months.”

“There’s always a way,” Slick says. “It might just take a while longer to find.” Crim doesn’t agree. He _knows_ there’s nothing he hasn’t tried. Months of periodic effort trying to bridge the gap between worlds with smaller rifts using his magic always failed, always gave him one-sided static from the other end, and always left him drained. Whatever he did to get here, he can’t replicate it without his brother. And his brother isn’t here, so he can’t do it.

Of course, he doesn’t say that to Slick, knowing he won’t understand. He’s so stupidly naive sometimes, always thinks there’s a way out, a solution to all problems. Crim doesn’t have it in him to crush that hope, no matter how unrealistic it is. Slick has finally found a reason to hope and Crim won’t be the guy that puts him in that kind of danger again. So, instead, he just aims a smile at Slick, knowing that it won’t look anywhere near genuine.

“Thanks, buddy.” Slick seems disappointed.

“You’re welcome.”

“We better get up,” Crim says before the quiet becomes too awkward. “We got work to do.”

“I need a shower first,” Slick says, flopping over on his back. “As nice as it is to cuddle all night, you’re _hot_ _as fuck._ ”

“Aw, thanks,” Crim says.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want Mister Comic.” Slick pushes him playfully and gets out of bed. Yanking his hoodie and then a tanktop off in succession, he digs around in his closet for fresh clothes before moving to the door.

“You could always join me,” he says over his shoulder as he picks up a towel, a cheeky grin on his face.

Crim’s soul starts hammering in his chest. “Nah, I gotta get going,” he responds, thinking Slick is just joking. He must be.

Slick shrugs. “Your loss.” Crim’s soul swells in his chest at the bright smile Slick throws over his shoulder as he walks out of the room. Half-dressed and with that towel draped over his shoulder, Crim can almost imagine Slick was actually, genuinely inviting him to join him in the shower. That instead of a night full of crying on Crim’s part, they had a night of passion. It _hurts_ how much Crim wants to follow him, wrap his arms around him and kiss him silly without the fear of Slick pushing him away or laughing because Crim fell for his prank.

 _By the Stars,_ he wishes that was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update is on Sunday the 25th of February 2018.
> 
> See ya'll there! <3
> 
> ## NOTICE ME!!
> 
> Got your attention? Good! Because we have fantastic news! We have been doing an event on our tumblrs! If you go there and search for "Burnt Sienna text event" you can see text messages that the boys send to each other in between chapters! We will also start posting teasers for the new chapters, so keep an eye out! :)


	17. Enamored

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya guys! Welcome back to a new chapter! We have some good new stuff for you this time, but also some heavy stuff. So here comes this chapters' trigger warning:
> 
>    
>  ****
> 
> #### **CHAPTER WARNING (spoilers): Character thinks other character is going to commit suicide - read with caution!!!!**
> 
> If this is a trigger for you, please don't read this chapter! Come to us for a safe summary of what happens. Please stay safe out there.
> 
> We hope you'll enjoy the chapter!

## ~ Chapter Seventeen ~  
Enamored

  

_“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.”_

\- Shakespeare

* * *

 

It’s the smile that gets him first. It’s almost a smirk, challenging and cheeky in that special way that only Slick can pull off without looking like an idiot choking on air. Next, it’s the way he leans against the edge of the counter, his ass just _barely_ resting against the surface. His hoodie is unzipped and hanging open around his body. It has slid off one of his shoulders, leaving it bare, and Crim wants to _bite it_.

He sees Slick’s mouth move, but he hears no words. However, the intent of them is easy to read in the way Slick subtly spreads his legs and tilts his head, his smile widening in an obvious invitation. He’s teasing him and the possibility of finally having his daydreams come true is too tempting.

Crim kisses him. There’s no actual memory of him stepping closer and grabbing a couple of fistfuls of the other’s hoodie. He just thinks about it and it happens: Their mouths fit together and euphoria explodes in his soul.

A loud series of knocks sounds to his right, the noise just annoying enough that he’s aware of it. Crim’s too occupied by their kiss to look, but the deeper it gets the more the noise competes for his attention, until it’s so loud he can’t ignore it. He pulls away and turns towards it, shouting-

_“WHAT?!”_

“Whoa, easy there tiger,” comes Slick’s amused response. “I did knock, just for the record.” Slick’s hands are occupied by two cups of steaming hot tea, so he gives the door a small kick and it swings closed. It takes a moment for Crim to realize he’s actually looking at the _real_ Slick.

“That looked like an awesome dream,” Slick comments as he comes closer. He hands one cup to Crim, who takes it only in the hopes it distracts from the fact that he’s blushing. There’s a _situation_ going on beneath his blankets and the fact that Slick is sitting down, batting Crim’s legs away like he owns that spot at the other end of the bed does nothing to help it go away.

“You get lucky?” Slick teases with a smile, brow bone lifting. He takes a sip from his cup while watching Crim’s face turn even redder.

“Shut up,” Crim mumbles. All it does is make Slick laugh. Crim hates the way it takes his breath away.

* * *

“... so, I told him that he had nothing on me, and the guy starts going off, listing all the things he’s “seen” during the two weeks he’s been “observing” me.” Crim gives a derisive snort at the sarcastic words coming from the table behind him and shakes his head.

“Fuckin’ idiot probably didn’t realize he was aiding his own failure,” he says. His response makes Slick produce a noise Crim can’t properly categorize.

“ _Exactly!”_ Slick exclaims as he appears in Crim’s peripheral vision. Crim glances at him for a second, but his attention quickly returns to the carrots he’s in the middle of chopping. The fine discs of carrots cover his entire working space. His knife accidentally cuts the pieces too, but he keeps working, knowing it’ll all taste the same in the end, no matter if the slices are perfect or not.

“I barely even needed to do anything. He kept explaining everything, _in details_. I mean, who does that?”

“Super villains!” Crim answers in a small, dramatic shout at the same time as Slick and they share a short laugh. While Crim is grabbing handfuls of his carrot slices and dumping them in the soup cooking on the stove next to them, Slick continues his story.

“You should have seen his face when I told him that. And then the poor guy almost passed out when I showed him the recording on my phone.” Slick waves the device in the air and doesn’t bother pocketing it before he jumps up to sit on the counter next to the cutting board Crim’s working at. “I can’t wait to show Al this. That little rat is gonna get the biggest legal smack ever for stalking me.”

“I don’t get why Fink doesn’t just give up,” Crim says, hoping the anger can’t be heard in his voice. “He couldn’t get me, so now he’s going after my friends? He gotta be fucked in the head. No sane monster does shit like that.”

“I still can’t believe that his poor attempt at “stalking” wasn’t an act. He looked genuinely surprised when I told him I’d been waiting for him to confront me for days.”

“Yeah? And how did he take our little prank?”

“Oh man, he had another temper tantrum.” When Crim looks over at him, he’s wearing a self-satisfied smirk. “Apparently “pretending to be a member of _la mafia de ratones,_ ”” Slick actually make air quotes, making Crim choke on the sip of water he just took, “just to fool hardworking monsters concerned about their friends and family is not okay.” Slick shakes his head. “Pretentious asshole. Just call it the mice mafia like everyone else, Fink!” Slick grins at Crim when he rolls his eyelights. It’s just like Fink to overly complicate a simple thing like that. The mice aren’t even Spanish! They’ve just watched too many human movies. Crim’s almost sure he knows exactly _which ones_ they’ve watched, too.

“He thought it was cruel to _“use his species’ worst enemy against him”_. His words, not mine,” Slick finishes the record of his day.

“He clearly hasn’t met Missy yet,” Crim comments with a grin.

“Obviously,” Slick says. A small beep sounds from Slick’s direction and Slick pulls out his phone. After reading his new message he rolls his eyelights and writes a reply. It barely takes a second for a new message to roll in, and for two long minutes Crim watches Slick from the corner of his eye. Slick’s expression grows increasingly annoyed, brows knitting together the longer his attention is on the screen. He also notices that Slick is actually wearing something rather out of the ordinary today - he’s sporting a black hoodie. Wait no - another glance tells him that it’s a jacket, actually. It’s open down the front, revealing a grey shirt beneath, and there’s an obvious zipper up the front that he can see thanks to the way Slick is angled slightly towards him.

“Am I so boring you gotta find entertainment elsewhere now?” Crim asks when he catches Slick writing yet _another_ text.

“Nah, it’s just that Muffet won’t get off my back,” he answers, quickly putting his phone down on the counter. For a couple of seconds Crim sees the last few texts on the screen before it fades to black, and what he sees makes his soul grow colder.

 

Okay, so Muffet clearly knows more than Slick does. Fuck, how did she figure it out? Has Crim really been that obvious? He thought he’d been really good about suppressing this shitty crush of his. Apparently not if Muffet was this heavily on to him… or maybe she got the wrong cue from that first karaoke night garbage fire? Maybe she has nothing on him at all and is just heckling Slick for the hell of it - she seems the type to do something like that. Either way, Slick’s responses are pretty telling about where he stands on the idea. The guy enjoys a good ribbing, and if he’s flat out dismissing her like that, then it’s obvious he’s serious about his lack of interest.

 _… Well. Good, that’s good. That’s_ great, _actually_ , Crim tells himself. One less thing for him to have to deal with, one less complication. Friendship isn’t fucking complicated - all he has to do is keep this shit to himself and everything will be _just fine._

Crim stares at the screen for longer than he meant to, completely missing what Slick was asking him. When he realizes he’s being talked to, Crim looks up at him with a gruff “wha?”

“What did you do today?” Slick asks in a slow, mocking tone. Crim makes a half-hearted wave to dispel the rightful sarcasm and goes back to stirring his soup.

“Nothin’ much.”

Slick steals a carrot slice that Crim hasn’t put in the pot yet and pops it in his mouth. He leans back on his elbows so half his upper back is leaning against the wall. “No, come on. Tell me.” Crim takes a breath, the air leaving him in a sigh.

“Fixed a ferret’s oven and had to explain to this weirdo Hippo monster that I don’t do computers, only hardware fixes. Guy kept calling me a fraud.”

“This wouldn’t happen to be Dennik?” Slick asks. “Lives way way _way_ back in the darker tunnels of Waterfall? Completely impossible to get to this time of year?”

“Yeah that’s the guy-” Whatever he was about to say gets stuck in on his tongue. Slick’s jacket has fallen open and ridden down over his shoulder, leaving it bare. It’s not just a shirt, it’s a tanktop, and as his dream from earlier flashes through his head, the words he was supposed to speak turn into a loud cough instead.

He spins away from the food, hoping Slick didn’t see the blush appearing on his face.

“You okay man?” Slick asks with concern. Crim waves a hand over his shoulder at him. Yeah, he’s _awesome_ . Nothing wrong, not at all - Crim just has to get his _mind in check right the fuck now_.

“Yeah, uh, no idea what happened there,” Crim says when he turns around again. Slick has sat up and readjusted his jacket so the only thing Crim can see now is his lighter grey undershirt. The tanktop. There’s practically nothing underneath that fucking jacket-

Slick catches him staring at the material and smiles, apparently oblivious to Crim’s train of thought. “It’s cool, right?” he says. “I got it years ago, just haven’t worn it in forever.” Without waiting for a response, Slick turns obligingly so he can see the other side. Crim is actually incredibly thankful for this abrupt change in topic… and positioning. To curb his thoughts, he focuses on the jacket instead.

Though not exactly new, the material itself seems well taken care of and almost too short for the guy to wear, not that that will probably ever deter him. He suspects Slick will wear literally anything as long as it’s comfortable, but it’s the back of the thing that really catches his interest. As Slick faces the other side of the kitchen, he gets a full view of the large print covering a huge amount of space with a sewn-in patch resembling a skeleton monster’s head. He even notes of a smaller version on it on the right side of the front as Slick settles back into place. Crim has to admit that, yeah, it’s pretty fucking cool.

“It’s cool,” he agrees. “Love the teeth.” He grins and points at the sharp teeth the skull has before snapping his own a few times for effect. It makes Slick laugh.

“I like yours better,” Slick says, once again making Crim choke on nothing. After the new coughing fit, Crim shakes his head at himself.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he mumbles, momentarily forgetting Slick. It’s the heat returning, it has to be. What the fuck else could this be?

“Dunno dude, but if you’re getting sick then maybe you should go see Gerson. I can take you if you don’t know where he lives,” Slick offers.

“Oh, uhm, nah,” he says hastily. “I’m not much for doctors.”

“But if it’s serious-”

“It ain’t. I don’t feel sick.” Crim can see Slick wants to argue more, but he doesn’t say anything.

Crim tries to turn the conversation in another direction. “Get over here, you’re gonna be my guinea pig.” He scoops up a bit of the soup on a spoon and holds it out to Slick and then gets to watch the agonizing ten seconds it takes for Slick to take the soup from the spoon. He stares into Crim’s eyes as he does it, the fucker.

“Mmh, it’s delicious,” comes the obnoxiously overdone, flirty voice. Crim has to quickly clamp down on the fantasy that there’s a hint of anything truly sensual instead of the obvious bait that it is.

Crim covers his reaction with a flourished roll of his eyelights and a return to stirring the soup as Slick laughs and leans on the counter beside him.

 _Yeah_ , Crim thinks, listening to the sound of Slick’s easy humor. _It really fucking is._

* * *

The next day finds Crim and Slick on their way back from the Dump. The trip back from is only slightly more eventful than the trip there, with the chillier currents dropping the ambient temperature of the colder side of the humid cavern by a scant few degrees. Crim, having thrown his jacket over his shoulder ages ago, relishes the slight relief after the excursion. They hadn’t found what they were looking for amidst the hulking trash piles before they were forced to call it quits, and Crim is still trying to suppress his disappointment with that recent failure. With Slick on his phone answering texts likely from his brother, Crim turns to the environment for distraction.

Despite the light curtain of obscuring mist hanging about the cavern, he can still make out a handful of new tributaries of Waterfall’s many rivers off the high, wooden path they’re taking above the rushing water. Normally, they could have taken a lower route, but not at this time of year. If the two of them don’t stick to these wooden paths, it would be easy enough to get lost amongst the dim lighting and misleading, shifting mud islands made every time the river forked at seemingly random intervals throughout the season. He swears it’s changed even in the few hours they spent at the Dump, as the large echo tree they just passed definitely didn’t have its upper roots underwater when they walked past it on this very same path earlier.

Younger echo trees stand as pulsating teal sentinels in the darker water further out, the brightest lights in the cavern now that many of the echo flowers have seeded and washed away for the season. Even the water has been leached of most of its natural bioluminescence by the influx of snowmelt from the Surface, coupled with the swifter autumnal currents it generates. Crim thinks the darkness makes the cavern more bearable despite the increased danger to travellers - not that there’s anyone looking to harm either of them here. His thoughts start to turn towards his own universe as his eyes follow a freshly uprooted echo flower being carried by the current towards the roaring of a huge set of falls the two of them are inevitably going to pass.

He knows this place very well in his own universe. Too well, by some counts. Between the plumes of mist rising from the depths and the higher currents partially submerging them, the alignments of the boulders at the edge are eerie to him, nagging at his sense of false familiarity. In his own world, during the calmer seasons, he’d come here drunk off his gourd to sit on one of the flatter stones and listen to the static of the falls, watching debris fall off into the nothingness below.

Occasionally, those debris were monsters.

It’s only once that he’s ever personally seen someone actually _jump_ from the Suicide Falls. As the two of them cross over the falls, the rolling white shapes play tricks on corners of his eyes. When he looks down, catching a glimpse of a figure on the edge of the endless black, the memory resurges with terrifying clarity.

The cave rapidly darkens around him, casting long, familiar, black shadows on the ground and walls. For a moment, he’s back home, watching a shape sway on one of the many boulders overlooking the Falls. Their long, dark robes whip around their ankles, the very tips of them soaked with water. All he can hear is the roar of the waterfall as he sees them slowly tilt forwards. He feels the shock, the urgency, the _need_ to do something, and yet, there he stands, just watching them dive into oblivion.

It takes but a split second before the dark silhouette is replaced with one covered in orange. A horrifyingly _familiar_ orange.

“Slick!!!” Crim calls out, and this time he doesn’t hesitate - this time he doesn’t just stand by and watch. His magic crackles in the air when he pulls on it, and in under half a second he steps through a teleport to get to Slick.

It’s only for a split second, but it happens. The very tip of his boot balances on the edge when he slides to a stop after tumbling out of his teleport. The lack of resistance under his toes as he adjusts the weight on his feet is unsettling in the worst way possible and Crim accidentally glances over the edge without wanting to. He stares into the great chasm, eyelights following the falling water and debris until it disappears into the void of nothingness down below, and he _feels_ it: The emptiness sucking at his feet, tempting him to jump. His soul starts pounding in his chest, the static sound of the water grows deafening, and all he wants to do is just… let himself tilt.

The urge terrifies him beyond anything he can explain, and that’s what breaks the spell. The hand reaching towards Slick finally clamps down on his forearm, giving Crim just enough leeway to rip him away from the edge. Only when they’re both far away, with solid ground under their feet does Crim let himself panic. An anger unlike any he’s had in this universe before rushes forth, blinding him with its intensity.

Releasing Slick’s arm, he fists two hands in the asshole’s hoodie instead. "What the actual fuck, Slick?! Are you trying to get yourself fucking dusted?" he yells directly at the guy’s face, magic-infused eyelights still blazing. “Why in any Stars-damned _hell_ would your stupid ass think that was a good idea?!"

When all Slick does is toss a carefree, goofy grin down at him, Crim can feel the potent fury expanding in his soul. "Aaaaaw, you _do_ care," Slick hums in a painfully patronizing tone.

It takes every scrap of control he has to prevent him from throwing Slick on the ground and punching him in his face right then and there. It would be so easy - all it would take is a jerk to the left and down, and the other’s back would be in the dirt. It’d be cathartic as hell, and it _probably_ wouldn’t dust him… but Crim couldn’t be sure of that. He’d never be sure of that. So, despite his hands shaking with the buzzing, unspent magic wrapped around them, he remains absolutely still and silent for a few stony seconds before he releases the material. He takes a necessary step back, putting distance between himself and Slick’s ever-casual slouch. It suddenly occurs to Crim that the guy doesn’t even give enough of a fuck to be afraid of him, to be afraid of his anger, and somehow that thought pisses him off even more.

"Yeah, _I do,_ ” Crim snaps, the feverish pounding in his chest a sign of _just_ _how true that really is_ , “and I'm really starting to fucking regret it! I wish I could punch you in your smug fuckin’ face!”

In the pause after Crim’s words, Slick slides his hands casually into his hoodie pockets, expression falling into a carefully cultivated neutral. Three words come out of his mouth:

“Then do it.”

It only fans Crim’s fury. "You fuckin’ _asshole!!”_ he yells, gesturing at all of Slick. “You _damn well_ know why I can’t!" He only belatedly realizes what he’d said before Slick’s neutral mask becomes icy and detached, just like Crim remembers from his first days in this universe: Blank, uncaring, eerie.

Slick turns barely an inch, putting his face in profile just enough to throw Crim what’s possibly the creepiest smile he’s ever seen from the guy. “It’s great to know that you care.” Slick’s verbal middle finger couldn’t have been more obvious, even if he’d actually stuck the real thing in Crim’s face. Slick looks over the edge of the dock, nodding in the direction of the abyss. “After all, didn’t water fall in there.” There’s no laugh in his voice as he delivers the line. It’s flat and humorless, not meant to entertain but more to provoke.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Crim snaps, unable to stop himself from putting himself right in Slick’s face again. The other passively stares down at him, hands still tucked into his hoodie pockets. “Is this a fuckin’ joke to you?” he asks, gesturing sharply behind him to the waterfall. Slick’s subdued eyelights don’t follow the gesture, instead boring into Crim’s blazing ones like some sort of challenge. “Messin’ around with your life like it means fuckin’ nothing, putting yourself in danger like that? What’s the fucking point?!”

“Maybe there isn’t one,” Slick answers with a frosty edge to his words.

That answer makes Crim pause for all of a second before he decides it’s just another of Slick’s attempts to goad him. “Know what? If you wanna kill yourself so badly, then go right the fuck ahead!” Crim shouts. “But at least have the fuckin’ courtesy to not force your friend be a part of it, you dick!”

“Cool” is all Slick says before he turns around and starts walking away.

“Fuck you!” Crim yells after him, hands shaking at his side. His outlash earns no response from the retreating Slick and Crim shouts, kicking a stone at his feet. It goes flying into the water where it lands with a hollow plop. It’s far from satisfying, but there’s nothing around to punch, so he has to settle with throwing a rock into the water with another shout.

What the hell is wrong with him?! How can he not fucking care that he almost killed himself? How could he be so Stars-damned careless that he scared Crim half to death? He couldn’t have given less of a fuck about the whole situation!

 _Fuck_ , that could have ended so much worse. What the hell would he have done if he hadn’t been fast enough? And why the fuck was Slick so damned casual about it?

Crim doesn’t know, but there is one thing he’s sure of: He’s not gonna let Slick get away with trying to do dumb shit like that.

* * *

The day after starts normally enough - around the time he knows the guy gets up for work, Crim leaves Slick a fairly clipped text. After ten minutes of silence from the other end, he leaves another. When this goes unanswered as well, enough unease begins to stir in his soul that he actually calls the guy. At first he panics when there’s no response to that either, but after an embarrassingly frantic search through the house (and a few places in Snowdin like Slick’s sentry post and the café) he finds Slick sleeping like a log in his own bed. Looking as exhausted as he does sprawled across the mattress, Crim doesn’t have the heart to wake him up to shout at him for being unresponsive in the most obvious location that he’d only now thought to check. Instead, he quietly ‘ports out with the full intent of giving him a piece of his mind later.

Crim figures out around noon why he should just have confronted Slick when he had the chance.

During his lunch break, Crim tries to text Slick again. When no answer comes, he teleports to his sentry post, knowing he should be there at this time of day, but when he arrives there’s no Slick to find. With no footprints in the snow and a freezing, empty interior of the little sentry shack, Crim panics for the second time that day. When his search this time leaves him with no clue as to where Slick is, Crim actually feels anxious enough to text Blue.

Blue’s response is as icy cold as ever. _“We’re having lunch. You are not invited.”_

Crim is still pissed at Slick, so he lets him get away with it, but relief floods him too. As long as Blue has an eye on him, Crim can be sure Slick will be fine. He leaves Slick alone for the rest of the day and doesn’t even see a shadow of him anywhere. It’s like he’s turned into a ghost.

It’s not hard figuring out that Slick is avoiding him.

On the second day, however, Crim has cooled down enough to begrudgingly admit that, yeah maybe he didn’t handle that situation all too well. He was kind of a dick and said some shit he’s not proud of and he kind of gets why Slick got angry. He’s ready to apologise for it so they can get back on schedule. He hates to admit it, but he actually misses having Slick around. His day is awfully dull without Slick’s near constant text chains of random comments and weird photos of pet cats he finds on the Undernet.

It’s because of this that he gets frustrated when, once again, Slick evades him. Crim has to admit that he’s actually pretty decent at it. So decent, in fact, that Crim can only find one person who seems to know where he is, not that she’s a hell of a lot of help. Muffet, when pressed, only said she’d ‘talk to him’ and refused to give Crim a straight answer as to where Slick disappeared off to in his free time. She does however tell Crim not to be worried, because Slick would never act on “those thoughts”. He’s not that kind of guy.

It doesn’t calm Crim down at all.

How the fuck is he supposed to apologize to the guy if there’s no feasible way to find him? The radio silence on Slick’s end is starting to frustrate him as well, as his texts go unanswered and his later phone calls do too. The more time that passes, the greater his urgency of finding the guy becomes.

This is why that, on the third day, out of options and his reserve of patience curdling into anxiety, Crim decides to play dirty.

 

 

That ‘soon’ burns a hole in his pocket for the rest of the day, making him restless. Even though it’s a bluff - like hell he’d involve Blue in this - and he sort of feels like a dick about it, he can’t deny that he’d gotten results. Short-lived results, anyway. No matter what he tries texting Slick after that, he doesn’t get any sort of response.

Exactly five minutes after Slick’s work shift ends, Crim ‘ports over to the little shack that constitutes Slick’s sentry station only to find it - as well as the surrounding area - empty once again.

He can’t say he’s surprised to discover that Slick is nowhere to be found, but the fresh shoe prints in the snow leading off into the trees and abruptly stopping is evidence enough that the elusive asshole took a hasty shortcut to fuck knows where. Once again, his frustration over being on the receiving end of teleportation magic makes him curse.

Between a couple jobs, Crim searches out a few spots he’s known Slick to frequent, only to find them just as empty as his sentry station. At the end of the day, as darkness begins to descend on the Snowdin cavern, Crim officially gives up.

More on the tired side than usual that day with an additional helping of frustration on top of it, Crim decides to just give up for the day and crash. If Slick doesn’t want to be found, he makes damn sure he can’t be and it pisses Crim off but there’s nothing he can do about it.

However, Crim barely makes it past his door before someone is outside it. He’s halfway out of his jacket, boots already kicked off into their corner when the three subdued knocks sound. He doesn’t expect to find Slick standing outside the door when he opens it.

At first he can’t find anything to say to the guy. He’s been on a wild goose chase for days and he’s tired, but he’s not about to ruin the chance when it presents itself to him. “You’re a hard guy to find when ya don’t wanna be found,” he says for a lack of anything better.

Slick just shrugs. “I have a talent for getting lost, so, uh, might as well make the best of it. So-” Slick nods towards the treeline.

A sigh leaves Crim and he casts a glance towards his very inviting bed. “Gimme a sec,” he tells him before he goes to put his shoes back on. When that’s done he steps out and locks the door behind him, gesturing to Slick to show the way. Slick doesn’t say anything, just starts walking. Crim falls into step next to him and holds his questions close to his chest - for now, anyway.

They reach a small trail weaving in between the trees at the back of the yard, a path Crim has never seen before. Slick steps onto and follows it like he’s right at home there, like he’s walked it a thousand times before, and Crim has gotta admit, the confidence looks good on him.

The crunch of their steps echo between the trees, sounding louder in the silence between them. The wind makes the powdery top layer of snow whirl up when a breeze blows past them, but Slick continues walking without any sign of stopping.

He tries to stay patient, but it still takes several minutes of silence before Slick starts talking. When he finally does, he speaks quietly, fitting in well with the atmosphere the darkness produces. It’s hushed and slightly eerie, like the feeling of eyes on your back when you know there’s no one around.

Crim suddenly feels at home.

"So he told you," is all Slick says. His hood is still up, but from what little Crim can tell from his slouch, he’s more tired than disappointed. He takes another drag on his cigarette, purposefully not looking in Crim's direction so he can’t make out the expression under the hood. “When?”

After everything else running through his mind the past few days, that may have been the last thing he’d expected out of Slick. It takes him off guard. “Who told me what?”

“Sans,” Slick says, and the deadpan way he says the name chills him until he realizes Slick is talking about Blue. Something about the way he said it makes him uneasy. “He told you about my HP. When?”

Crim doesn't even bother with the half-assed lie he'd saved up just in case this conversation actually happened: That it was obvious. That it was easy to tell. But hell, Slick had played it off so well that he never would have known if Blue hadn’t told him.

"Couple months back, when you ran a fever," he answers truthfully, shrugging. After a minute of stressful silence from Slick’s end, Crim sighs loudly, trying to play off his nerves. "Look, it's not a big fuckin' deal," he tries. "It doesn't change shit. It's not like I'm gonna tell your dumb ass to stop doin’ shit because it's harder or anythin'. It's just..." His voice trails off as he tries to find the words. He huffs a frosty breath in irritation, unable to express exactly what he’s trying to get at. The unvoiced feeling itching under his sweater frustrates him. “It’s just… fuck.” _Why does he have to be so fucking terrible at this._  
  
Slick keeps his silence for a few more seconds before he speaks again, finally looking back at him. The dim glow of his eyelights from within the hood gives him an oddly piercing expression that seems to go straight through Crim. "It's just that you're annoyed I didn't tell you first?"  
  
Crim frowns in the direction of the tree-covered stream trickling in the distance, unable to meet that gaze for more than a moment. Damn Slick. It’s hypocritical and he knows it, but that’s definitely a part of it. Hell, _he_ still doesn’t talk about how he’d lived as a one HP monster for a good chunk of his life despite the other two knowing about it. He hadn’t even brought it up after he’d found out about Slick’s similar situation - it just wasn’t something he was keen on discussing. A lot of the memories surrounding it are just too painful to relive.

He wants to say he understands, that it wouldn’t have made a difference, but he can’t find it in himself to. Because it _had_ made a difference. He _has_ been more cautious and more aware around Slick, always keeping his temper on a leash. Besides, he’s already painfully aware that he’d be expecting something of Slick that he isn’t even willing to volunteer himself. After all, he knows that if he hadn’t been forcibly Judged, it never would have come up.

"I get why,” he mutters, trying not to feel like an ass and failing. “Anyone who figured that shit out startin’ to treat you like you’re made outta glass or lookin’ at you like a target? I fuckin' hated that. But yeah, it would’a been nice to know earlier,” he admits. “I wouldn’t have avoided ya, but I might’ve been more careful.” He winces when he thinks back on the amount of times he’d shoved Slick out of the way or onto something when he’d been annoyed at him. Any one of those times could have been fatal.  
  
"I wasn't worried," Slick says far too casually.  
  
That easy answer, that easy dismissal of his effort, causes Crim to stop in his tracks, eyes glued to the dim orange of the back of Slick’s hoodie as the other keeps walking sedately down the path. That statement, combined with the practiced apathy of Slick’s body language, tugs at one of his already frayed nerves.

"Why the fuck not!?” he yells after Slick, and a couple of roosting birds overhead wing away in a panic. “I could've dusted you ten, twenty times over by now! Hell, do you even know how fucking close I was three days ago when you tried to be another piece of waterfall garbage?"  
  
"But you didn't, and you wouldn't have," Slick says evenly with what Crim thinks is fatalistic overconfidence. The guy doesn’t even turn around or pause in the face of Crim’s outburst.  
  
"There is no way in hell you could know that," Crim counters angrily, catching back up to his side in a few quick strides. Fuck the guy’s longer legs.  
  
"You’ve got a temper, sure, but you never intended to hurt me," the guy states matter-of-factly, like it’s a Stars-damned rule of law. Sure, he’s right, but the audacity of him being right without even Crim being sure about it pisses him off. Crim is about to open his mouth again when Slick cuts him off. "And even if it _wasn't_ about me, then the whole time I've known you, you've never wanted to harm anyone else either, even people who’ve given you nothing but shit. You're actually a pretty nice guy, even if you do a decent job of playing it off."

The explanation coupled with the slightly backhanded compliment throws him off just enough for him to drop the first rebuttal on his tongue. “Yeah? Doesn’t stop me from wanting to punch the occasional smug fuck in the face,” Crim mutters under his breath instead.

There’s a breathy chuckle from under the hood. “Who _hasn’t_ wanted to punch someone in the face now and then?” Slick says, a finger tapping his cigarette and causing a flutter of ash to fall off the remaining tip. “Point is, you don’t actually _do_ it, and that makes or breaks a person. All my other shit aside, I’m actually a pretty good Judge of character,” Slick drawls, and Crim finds his eye twitching at the pun, which, knowing Slick, is very much intentional, “and you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit.” As he finishes, he gives the used cigarette butt a harsh flick, sending it far away from the path. “It actually kinda pisses me off, you know? You’re so much more than that, but you’re just letting people believe what they want.”

When Crim keeps his silence, Slick fishes in his pockets for a new cigarette and his latest in a line of cheap, easily lost lighters. The soft _chk chk_ of him thumbing the flame to life is followed by a long sigh as the new stick is lit. “I dunno why you do it, but I can guess.”

“That so, Sherlock Bones?”

There’s a soft snort at the joke before Slick continues a little more quietly, “Sometimes, people don’t do things because they’re afraid of what could happen. Other people do those same things because they’re afraid of what would happen if they didn’t.” He glances at Crim, his words hanging heavy in the air between them for a few seconds as he takes a long drag off his cigarette. When he breathes out a new plume of smoke, it’s accompanied by the words, “I’m other people. The thing at Waterfall? It was a whim, sure, and maybe not a great one, but it was still a thing. And, uh, thing is, if I stopped to think about everything I did, I’d probably never do anything because I’d always be wrong.” There’s a moment of quiet and Crim has a feeling Slick isn’t done yet. So, instead, he listens to their footsteps crunch through the icy snow, waiting for Slick to continue.

“It’s not that I wanna kill myself,” Crim gets the feeling there’s a silent _all the time_ hiding in there somewhere, “but being on the edge of the falls like that? I _feel_ something.” Crim notices the weird emphasis Slick puts on the word, and remembers their talk a few nights ago. He doesn’t say anything, afraid it might dissuade his friend from continuing. “The air rushing through me, the water soaking into my shoes, the rush of panic in my soul because I know one misstep and it could be over. I feel _alive_. I don’t plan on being in danger, it’s just… a consequence of doing something. And that’s better than doing nothing.”

The echoes of voices in his head deafen him long enough that he doesn’t hear Slick’s final comment.

 

_“Then why the hell are you doing it?!” his brother screams at him._

_“Because it’s doing something!! Weren’t you the one telling me to get off my ass?” Crim screams back._ _  
_

_“I didn’t say go pick a fight with a Pyrope you idiot! Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Papyrus retorts._

 

When he becomes aware again, it’s to the expectant face of his friend looking at him for a response.

But Crim doesn’t know what to say. His entire world seems to change in that very moment as his brother’s words finally make sense. So many years of having the same argument over and over again and it’s only now, standing in the role of his brother, concerned for someone he cares about, that he realizes that’s what it was all along. The shouting, the curses, the degradation. It might not have been the right way, but it was the _only_ way his brother knew… because who had taught him otherwise? Not Crim. He had shouted at every little mistake Papyrus made, cursed at him for putting himself in danger and-

Stars, what kind of brother is he?

“I… never thought about it that way before,” Crim responds for a lack of anything better.

“No one really does. I tried telling Sans once, but he can’t understand what that’s like and I can’t really blame him for that.” Slick looks away, taking another drag on his cigarette. “I, uh, didn’t try again after that.”

Crim isn’t surprised. He can’t imagine Blue acting pleasantly when he misunderstood and thought Slick was becoming suicidal. After all, he’s seen firsthand how much more controlling and defensive Blue can get when he thinks Slick is in danger. He couldn’t get anywhere near the guy when he was sick without Blue forcefully shooing him away.

Slick’s sad smile lets Crim know that he’s on the same page.

For the next few minutes, Crim is lost in the past. Memories are surfacing, arguments and fights that he’s suddenly seeing in a new light. He can’t believe he’s been so fucking blind, can’t believe that it has taken him this long to realize why his brother kept stuffing his nose into his business, why he was so concerned about who Crim’s friends were and how long he stayed out.

Papyrus must have been _terrified_ the night that Crim had accidentally left, and Crim had just kept bashing his head against the wall, ignoring what was right in front of him: His brother, scared of losing him. If he had only _known,_ so much pain could have been avoided. But instead, he ended up hurting one of the only people in his life he gives a shit about and-

And he had done it again with Slick. Been completely blind and hurt his friend by letting his mouth run off with him.

He glances up at Slick. The forest is quiet around them now, the crunch of their footsteps falling in time with each other and the distant trickle of the river being the only sounds. He seems peaceful now. Tired but calm. There’s no hint of the expression he was last treated with, none of that eerie mask he had pulled on.

It takes him a dozen carefully taken breaths before he can get any words out. “Listen, Slick-”

“It’s okay,” Slick cuts him off.

Crim’s eyelights roll skywards, his hands rising about half a foot out of his pockets in annoyance as he looks at the guy. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

Slick shrugs one shoulder. “When you start like that I know it’s gonna be an apology. And only thing that’s happened is the shit at Waterfall.”

“So you just know it all, huh?” he says sarcastically, hands returning to his pockets.

“Pretty much,” Slick says with joking confidence, but there’s a pause shortly after, followed by a sigh. “But if you really need to say it, just do.”

“I was a dick.”

“You were scared for me,” Slick counters easily, shooting Crim a sidelong glance.

“I was _a dick_ and I shouldn’t have shouted at you,” he says, gesturing in front of him and then at Slick. “Or let you leave like you did- shit.” Crim suddenly stops in his tracks, forcing Slick to a halt as well about a pace away down the path. His eyelights sweep the path rapidly as the realization trickles in. “That was- wow that was really stupid of me.”

Slick closes the distance between them, stopping in front of him. He bends down to catch Crim’s eye. “I wouldn’t have hurt myself.”

“Yeah, well, ex-fucking-scuse me for thinking you would! You were standing on the edge of the fuckin’ Suicide Falls, Slick! Pretty fucking hard to think anything else.”

Slick spreads his hands to either side of Crim but doesn’t move forward. “I told you-”

“But I _didn’t know_!” he shouts, causing Slick to straighten and back off. As his friend moves away, he clenches his teeth before he continues. “Th’fuck was I supposed to know that?” he continues with forced calm, stuffing his hands back into his jacket pockets. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry.” The words are tired-sounding, and he says them while looking off to the side of the path. To Crim, it sounds like a platitude, like something he’d say to his brother so that he’d get off his back.

“Don’t fucking do that,” Crim snaps back instantly. “Don’t say you’re sorry when you’re not.”

“How do you know I’m not?” When Slick looks back at him with a furrowed browbone, Crim throws on his best unimpressed expression in return. There’s a few beats of silence before Slick sighs heavily in defeat, breaking eye contact. “Fine, okay, maybe I’m not sorry I did it, but I _am_ sorry I scared you. I should have explained instead of walking out on you.” They glance at each other.

“‘S fine. I can handle fear.”

They only make it a few steps more before Crim breaks the silence again. “I just don’t wanna lose another friend like that,” Crim admits finally, the words that have burned in his soul too long tumbling out. He doesn’t look over, but he can feel Slick’s gaze on the side of his face. “I just can’t.”

"Hey." Crim feels a slight weight on his shoulder, and sees Slick's hand resting there when he glances over. His eyelights follow the connecting arm up to a serious expression on his friend’s face. "You will _never_ lose me."

It sounds like a promise.

* * *

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the chapter we've attempted a new thing to help us pass time during the story. So the text chains you found there represent an amount of time passed. We're talking about two weeks. We thought it was better than just saying "two weeks later", but we have no idea if it's something that actually works, so let us know if it did!
> 
> Oh oh, did you see it? If you don’t follow us on Tumblr, then you didn’t! We’ve started a fic event! Come hang out with us, and maybe you’ll catch a few texts Crim and Slick send each other. ;) The first chain is already up and you can find it under the tags "Fic event, Text event and Burnt Sienna Text Event". So go have a look! :D
> 
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~


	18. The Underground Coffee Railroad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeeey guys! Welcome to a new chapter! This time we got something interesting in store for you :p Keep an eye out for our new reader OC Leena, based on one of our most loyal readers, whose constant comments make our days so much better every time we upload. This is our thank you to you for being so awesome <3 
> 
> We hope you enjoy the chapter!  
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning for this chapter! It contains the usage of Marijuana!**

## ~ Chapter Eighteen ~  
The Underground Coffee Railroad

 

 _"That these are the days that bind you together, forever  
_ _And these little things define you forever, forever"_

 _“Bad Blood”_ by Bastille

* * *

When his alarm wakes him up a quarter to seven, Crim most of all want to just turn around and go back to sleep, but his looming eight AM appointment makes that impossible. A big sound system at a major Hotland hotel broke down and it needs fixing before tonight’s show. It’s a big cash job, the kind you don’t say no to when offered, but Crim doesn’t need the money. What he _does_ need, however, is the connections the job will give him. A big company - one of the largest in the Underground, in fact - like the hotel will potentially bring in a lot of jobs later on through referrals, something that Crim might not need at the moment, but will be very useful in the future.

So, he hauls himself out of bed with a groan instead of giving in to his desire. The journey to the dresser is slow and heavy, each footstep feeling like it’ll be the last before he surely falls back asleep while walking. He reaches into the dresser and pulls clothes out on autopilot, not caring too much about what he’s throwing on.

When the first shirt doesn’t seem to want to go past his belly, Crim tries another. And then another. It’s only at the third one - and the last in the drawer thanks to it being laundry day - that he seems to wake up and realize what’s wrong with all of them: They’re all too small for him.

The soft grey one he’s currently trying to force on himself is _just_ tight enough that it keeps riding up the moment he stops trying to pull it down. He tries tucking it into his pants, but that isn’t gonna help him this time, either. The moment he bends in any kind of horizontal direction, he’s fucked.

No matter how good a job he does on the hotel gig, he’s not going to get the kind of good reputation he wants by doing it as a fucking slob. Using one of the shirts in the laundry hamper - a number of which have prominent grease and oil stains on them - is also out of the question, leaving him with no remaining options.

“Stars-DAMN it,” he growls, ripping off the shirt and violently tossing it in a random direction in the room. It happens to land on the cat tree by the desk, partially obscuring a previously napping Missy and earning him an angry-sounding return growl from the cat.

“Then that makes fucking two of us,” he snaps back at her.

If he hadn’t been such a lazyass and stuffed his face less at Muffet’s, maybe he wouldn’t be _having_ this problem right now! But that’s irrational and he knows it - it’s not the damn food that’s doing it, it’s the _universe_. The calm, pretty little picture perfect universe that leaves him without any challenges and forces his magic to build up on his body, soul prepared to fight when the challenges come back.

In some way it’s perfect. If Crim somehow miraculously finds his way home, he can do it. He’s _definitely_ got enough magic. He can admit, it's been annoying him for some time, the shirts that are just a bit too short or the pants that felt just a little too tight... but he hadn't thought it had gotten this out of hand, or that it would catch up to him all at once. Hell, he’d thought maybe it was one size and he’d stop growing, but he never anticipated just how high his magic production was before.

Luckily, despite it being inconvenient having it all just hang around, it seems to have calmed down enough that he’s barely changing anymore, but it’s not soon enough. Looking in the mirror now, there's no mistaking it: He needs new clothes. _Badly._

Being forced to buy new clothes feels like hammering in another coffin nail on the hope of ever returning home. That he’s doing it for the sake of having some bullshit ‘future reputation’ here is just the cherry on top of a shitty cake. He shouldn’t care about that, shouldn’t _have_ to care about that, but when nothing he’s tried has worked out, what else can he do? _It ain’t giving up,_ he tries to convince himself. _I’m just playing the long game._

He shakes his head at himself, half to clear it and half at the image he makes in the mirror. “First the shit with Slick and now this? What the fuck are you doing Crim?” he asks his chubby double, gesturing at its body. “Get your shit together.”

He can’t actually wear this outside, not now, not after _seeing_ _it_ and the only place he knows he _might_ find something that fits is…

Slick’s room.

Fuck, he can practically hear the jitter of anxiety in his soul from that realization, but anxiety is better than wallowing in his own thoughts, so he shoves through it logically. The guy must have _something_ Crim can wear while buying something new - and where does he even do that? He has no idea where the shops are, besides Doggo’s. But Doggo doesn’t sell clothes, and Crim is at a loss. He might actually have to ask _Slick_ , and _fuck_ if that isn’t a catastrophe waiting to happen. Crim can already feel the dread in his soul at all the teasing remarks and the other’s obnoxiously cocky smile every time he adjusts his jacket. He’s not sure if his ego can take another series of hits like that.

Crim sighs deeply and removes the shirt from atop Missy’s annoyed face, giving her a quick, consolatory scritch behind an ear before she can take a half-hearted swipe at him. “Sorry baby, I gotta raid the idiot who lives next door.”

Before he can talk himself out of it, he teleports to the room. He doesn’t worry too much about waking Slick up - the guy can sleep anywhere and at any time - but he should have. The moment he starts going through the other’s closet, the lump of blankets on the bed starts moving.

“Crim?” comes Slick’s quiet, sleep-affected voice. “What’re you doin’?”

 _Fuck._ “Go back to sleep,” Crim says in a muffled voice as he hurriedly pulls the first shirt that looks like it’ll fit over his head. Luckily, it does, but it doesn’t so much _fit_ as it simply covers everything. It’s still pretty tight around his gut, actually drawing taunt lines in the material, but it’s long enough that even if it _does_ ride up, nothing will show. It isn’t perfect, but it’ll do.

“Wouldn’t argue with that, but uuuhm,” Slick yawns, “you’re kinda in my room. Robbing my closet.” When Crim turns to look, he can see Slick giving the shirt Crim just pulled over his head a sleepy but pointed look from atop a pillow.

“Need to borrow it for a few hours,” Crim just says.

“Why?”

“None of your business is why,” he shoots back too quickly.

“Oh, it’s that good?” Slick pauses only to stretch on the bed. “Mhmmm, now I really wanna know.”

“Why can’t you just shut up and go back to bed?” Crim mutters as he tucks the excess edges of the shirt into his pants.

“Because you’re way more fun than my dreams,” Slick responds instantly, and after that statement the guy has the fucking audacity to put his arms behind his head. Without even getting out of bed, he exaggeratedly looks Crim over like he’s some kind of commodity.

Crim decides then and there that it’s _way_ too early for Slick’s shit. It hasn’t even been half an hour since he’d hauled himself out of bed, and he’s already had an existential crisis without any strong tea to help him deal with it. What _is_ this; Slick _just_ woke up, where the fuck is this even _coming from?_

“Shut up you ass,” Crim snaps more out of embarrassment than anger, “I just need to borrow a shirt for work. It’s not a Stars-damned conspiracy, fuck!” He can feel his face heating up as Slick’s gaze lingers on his stomach for a couple seconds too long.

“Out of shirts, huh?” comes the probing question, and there’s something in the tone that makes the anticipated dread start swirling in his soul. _Fuck, he knows. Well, not like it ain’t fucking obvious._

“Yeah,” Crim replies gruffly, staring into the guy’s closet both to avoid the inquisitive expression and to better hide the burning on his cheeks.

“You knooow,” Slick begins with that long-ass drawl he gets when he’s about to be an obnoxious asshole, “I, uh, could have sworn that you had two weeks worth of shirts to your name.” He pauses, but when Crim doesn’t respond, he keeps going. “Even if you skipped laundry day last week you should still be good. So did you, uh, lose ‘em all, or are you just full of shirt?”

“Fuck you.”

“Says the guy who’s bright r-” Crim doesn’t hear the rest because he ‘ports out before Slick finishes, landing back in the safety of the guest room. No sooner has he taken a step than the phone buzzes on the end table near the bed. He ignores it, pulling on his jacket and is about to pick Missy up when it goes off again. With a huff of annoyance, he turns on the screen to read the texts. The first is a shitty apology, but the second one turns out to be a pretty long one for Slick.

Crim considers this for a minute before he answers. On one hand, he’s already fed up with Slick for the day and he has a sneaking suspicion that he’s going to be tired as hell after the job. On the other, this gets him out of the further humiliation of asking where the shop Slick uses might be and he won’t stick out like a sore thumb as a lone skeleton monster if it’s in Hotland or the Capital. In the end, he hedges his bets on a maybe. Worst case scenario he cancels and passes out early. It’s not like Slick has other plans, probably.

* * *

He doesn’t end up taking Slick up on the offer. Despite promising to be on his best behavior, Crim knows very well that Slick can’t help himself if the opportunity arrives. Lighthearted as the teasing probably is on the other’s end, it means more to him. In fact, the whole thing has actually soured his day and he doesn’t want to dive back into it. It’s a shitty thing to do, but he cancels with a bad excuse that makes even him cringe. He’s a bit worried Slick will take it the wrong way, but those fears are dispelled when Slick’s answer arrives.

He’s learned to read from Slick’s previous texts that the goofy emoji at the end signals him being chill with it. Fuckin’ wierdo. Crim shakes his head with a sigh and puts his phone away.

With that out of the way, Crim can suddenly focus on getting the job done instead of worrying about how to cancel. The hotel gig turns out to be pretty easy, however, so he’s done earlier than expected. There were a couple dozen fried wires that needed finding and replacing and a couple of fuses that needed changing and it all barely takes half a day. When he goes to collect his payment from the secretary at the front desk, he figures he might as well ask a local if there are any stores nearby. That’s the kind of question hotel guests ask them all the time, right?

Luckily enough, there is. The directions she gives him turns out to be to a tiny little shopping square nestled right up against the hotel. The entire place is wrapped in tight vegetation from all sides, tucking it away in its little corner. Vines hanging from the ceiling of the cave have been weaved together as long braided cords and left hanging in complicated patterns over the square, with glowing lanterns hanging from them in intervals. There’s flower pots and benches and a focus on natural design in the architecture, giving it an earthy feeling without letting it seem run-down. It’s a minimalist aesthetic he’s familiar with, and it settles some of his initial nervousness. It’s no wonder that he hasn’t seen this place before despite being in the area previously; there’s nothing that would have pointed the way to the little market area, and honestly, Crim has no idea how he would have found this place if it hadn’t been for the secretary.

It sort of reminds Crim a tiny bit of the early morning Waterfall produce markets, only with real stores lining the sides of the square and a fountain in the center of the circle. Instead of produce, it seems like everything from clothes to spices and other curios are available. Despite having real stores for customers to go into, the shop owners have still set up tables outside with signs all around, colorfully promising good deals inside. At a first glance, everything seems to be in good quality, and as he walks around to get a better look, every single piece of clothing he can see - even the obnoxious, brightly colored ones - comes without even a speck of visible water damage. Either this stuff was produced in the capital, or they restored it perfectly. It brings his hopes up.

There’s a couple of dozen monsters strolling around on the square, looking at the wares laid out, but Crim isn’t interested in window shopping too much today. He has a goal in mind and - after a quick scan of the store fronts - he finds the store the secretary told him would be just up his alley. It’s a basic storefront, white with a big sign written in sleek black lettering. The windows’ display seems promising - all dark colors - and Crim decides it’s worth a look.

Barely one step inside and he’s greeted by an enthusiastic crocodile monster that appears out of thin air. Had Crim not known better he would have sworn she had teleportation magic, but as it is, he’s pretty sure she was just waiting in ambush besides the door, ready to jump at whoever entered.

“Welcome to Croc ‘n Roll!” she exclaims at him before continuing in a rush. “My name is Bratty! Please let me know if there’s anything I can help you with!”

The outburst takes him by surprise and he stumbles a step back, putting a few feet distance between himself and the overeager monster. It takes him a moment to realize that there’s no danger and that the magic roaring to life inside him is unnecessary. Bratty’s stiff smile cracks a little as she keeps glancing from his shoes to his newly magic-lit eyes with a hint of worry.

“I think I’m good for now, thanks,” Crim says slowly, forcing himself to be polite. He tries for a smile to let her know he’s not dangerous, but just got startled, and he hurries to put his magic to rest again.

“Oh, well, just shout if you need me! I’ll be right over here,” she says, pointing at the counter right next to the door he entered through. There’s a phone lying on it, screen lit up. Crim assumes that’s where she laid in ambush.

After giving him a tight smile, she walks away looking a little disappointed. Crim shakes his head at her when her back is turned. He literally just stepped through the door and hasn’t even seen anything yet, what is she expecting to be able to help him with except scaring the shit out of him?

Looking around, he finds that he’s the only monster in the store besides two teens searching through what looks like a rack of t-shirts with prints on them. His fingers itch to go look for himself, but he stays back. When the teens move out, he’ll have plenty of time. Instead, he busies himself by looking through all the other displays with clothes.

As it turns out, he’s hit the jackpot: There’s a lot of interesting clothes in this store. Within minutes, he realizes he might need one of those baskets he saw next to the entrance, and after collecting one he starts stuffing clothes into it. A couple of pair of pants which he badly needs, a knitted sweater in deep red with a pattern he loves, long sleeved plain t-shirts - everything he fancies he puts into the basket so he can try it on later.

Once the teens disappear, he attacks the t-shirt rack with vengeance and ten new shirts are added to his basket - probably more than he’ll need, but they’re cool and it’s his money so fuck everybody else.

He only has to put a few things back after trying them on, but he easily finds replacements in the right size. At the counter, ready to pay, he’s faced with Bratty again, and this time he feels in a better mood when she asks if he needs help fitting the clothes. He politely says no, and after paying he even promises to come back when she asks him to. The store is cool and he’ll definitely be back to look through more of those t-shirts.

Crim leaves with a good feeling in his soul.

* * *

It all starts with what was _supposed_ to be a routine grocery trip.

Crim should have known from the first sentence that his night was about to take a turn for the weird. He should have known to back the fuck out the second Doggo crept up on him in the back end of the store while Crim was looking at some blueberries and nudged his shoulder with all the subtlety of a rock hitting a window.

Instead, he is an idiot and he _listens_.

“Yo, skeledude,” Doggo says. “If you’re looking to buy _the good stuff_ , I can hook you up. I know people.”

Crim turns slowly, the look he’s giving Doggo probably looking like the literal definition of the sentence ‘ _what the fuck dude?’_

“Excuse the fuck out of me?” he says, not sure if he misunderstood what the other said.

“Shh!” Doggo actually _shushes_ him. “Keep your voice down,” he says, like it’s _Crim_ that’s being weird and half whispering, half shouting. He nods towards the counter and gives Crim a pointed look before he walks over there. Crim looks around in the otherwise empty store and can’t for the life of him figure out why Doggo is acting like the Guards will storm into his shop any second now.

Still, Crim’s curiosity is sparked and he finds himself following the dog monster all the way to the back room, where Doggo closes the door after searching the shop like Crim just did. Crim has no idea what he’s looking for, especially since he can’t really _see_. Maybe that’s why he’s being so secretive.

“There’s no one out there,” Crim tells him, just to be helpful.

“Doesn’t matter, Muffet might have bugged the store.” When Doggo turns around, he has a unsettling expression on his face. Crim would even go as far as to describe it as “paranoid”.

He shifts the weight on his feet, creating a small constant movement Doggo can see. “I’ve noticed,” Doggo says once his eyes zero in on Crim’s face.

“You have noticed what?” Crim asks.

Doggo leans closer before quietly saying, “The signs. You got cravings. And I got the stuff.”

“The... stuff?” Crim repeats slowly.

“ _The_ _Stuff,_ yes.” Doggo winks at him.

“Okay…”

“Go to this location. Meeting is in an hour. _Don’t_ tell anyone about it and make sure you’re not followed.” Doggo hands him what looks like a business card, but all that’s written on it is a tiny drawing of what Crim recognizes as a part of the lower floors of Hotland and “UCR 8PM” in red marker.

“Make sure you burn that after you memorize it. Now go. We can’t be seen together like this.” Crim opens his mouth but he doesn’t get to ask any of his many questions. Doggo pushes him out of the room and back to the basket of food items Crim left behind. Then Doggo returns to his chair behind the counter and makes a show out of pretending he’s doing absolutely nothing. It’s not very convincing - despite him literally doing nothing.

Crim glances at the card again before he snorts to himself, shaking his head. He hides the card in his inner jacket pocket and continues his shopping like nothing happened.

* * *

It ends up being way too tempting to leave alone. He has no intentions of doing anything shady - Stars forbid it came back to Alphys and he’d have to kick her ass - but this Doggo always seemed so chill. He was far from chill this morning and Crim is curious. It might very well be some sort of stupid prank, but he has nothing better to do and Doggo isn’t the kind of monster to jack people over for a laugh.

So, thirty seven minutes later, Crim finds himself making excuses for why he’s leaving the house so late after dropping off groceries. It’s surprisingly easy, in fact. Blue seems more exhausted than normal thanks to an abnormally intense training session with Alphys from earlier that day, and Slick is… well. Being Slick. The way the guy lounges half-asleep on the couch, he’s not even sure if two words he said got stuck in that guy’s skull.

Snowdin is darkening steadily as he steps out the door and heads in the direction of Waterfall. The short way, of course. Fuck the creepy ass Riverperson. As soon as he’s in the treeline, his magic is humming, ready to take him the rest of the way in a split-second. With a satisfying pop of displaced air, the temperature rapidly rises as the chill he’d brought with him dissipates. Along with the heat comes the noise: Hotland’s backdrop music is a constant rumble and sizzle to accompany the sounds of various gasses venting below the high paths.

The place he ends up at doesn’t look familiar to him at all, but then again, he hadn’t frequented Hotland often back in his own universe, so that doesn’t surprise him all too much. It’s hot as fuck, filled with lava, and he’s already regretting bringing his jacket within the first minute of his arrival. Great. He starts walking along the stone path and pulls the card out, flipping it over and staring at the shitty drawing. He would honestly not be surprised if Doggo had drawn this himself, if the sign on the front of his store is anything to go by. Exactly how the fuck was he supposed to find this place, again? He knows he’s _around_ the right area, but-

“Hhhey,” comes a quiet, wispy-sounding voice from behind him. Crim spins on his heel at the sound, coming practically face to face with a very familiar monster in very unfamiliar attire.

It’s a yellow-flamed fire elemental dressed in what Crim can only describe as the most obnoxiously-colored set of clothes he’s ever laid eyelights upon. It’s an eye-watering assortment of sunflower yellows, hot pinks, lime greens and electric blues patched together by sections into the form of a tailor-made suit. Gone are the mauves, purples and reflective sunglasses Crim had come to associate with the guy, replaced with larger, rounded ones that completely obscure the upper part of the elemental’s face with their milky opaqueness. To top off the ridiculousness, the large bowtie around the other monster’s neck is a bright, traffic-cone orange.

When Crim doesn’t immediately respond thanks to the large degree of mental capacity needed to process what he’s looking at, the elemental reaches into his suit and pulls out a very similar card to the one Crim is holding. “Fhhhirst time?”

Crim blinks a couple times before finally regaining his composure. Despite the almost painful similarity of form, this definitely isn’t who he thinks this is. “Uh... yeah,” he glances at his own card to take his eyelights off Grillby so his head will stop swimming. “To whatever this is,” he adds.

The look the fire elemental is giving him is probably an understanding one, if the smile and the flicker of the flames on his head are any indication. He’d gotten pretty good at reading those - the smile means fuck all, he’d learned, but the flames can’t lie. “Come.” There’s a short gesture beckoning him to follow and Grillby begins walking in the opposite direction Crim had been going. Of course.

“So, uh, what actually is this thing?” He asks as he catches up to Grillby’s longer stride. The trail behind the elemental smells faintly of beeswax, a scent that strikes Crim as odd.

“A meeting,” comes the short and to the point answer that answers very little. Good to know that some things didn’t change. And, just as it always has, the clipped words dig into an old annoyance.

“Yeah, alright,” he says with some irritation. “But what kind of meeting, and why Hotland? I can think of maybe ten better places for this off the top of my head, and that’s with the heat makin’ it impossible to keep track of shit.”

“Sahhhns.”

“What?” he returns, just barely refraining from snapping at the almost-familiar monster.

Grillby simply shrugs and takes a sudden turn off the path that seemingly would have him plummeting into the massive pool of lava below. At the first step over the edge, Crim immediately latches a hand onto the sleeve of his suit to stop him.

“What the _fuck_ -”

“It’s fhhhine,” reassures Grillby with a jagged, overdone smile. He pointedly taps the top of the poised shoe a few times against the all but invisible platform below it. “Volcahhhnic glhhhass,” he explains.

Now that Crim is actually _looking_ , he can see the light bend in an odd way in the direction Grillby wanted to to head. As well, he isn’t sure what he was actually accomplishing by trying to save a fire elemental from lava. He releases the elemental’s suit, eyeballing the ground suspiciously. “There’s a secret fucking path to this thing?” Alright, _now_ he’s mildly impressed.

Grillby’s smile only widens before he continues walking fearlessly out over the lava. If Crim didn’t have his hands full following behind Grillby while simultaneously keeping an eye on where he put his feet, he would have had some choice words for the other. Every step for Crim is unnerving; the glass is obviously more than just its base material, as the reflections of the fire throughout the cavern do little to reveal its presence. If Grillby hadn’t been walking ahead of him, he would never have found this thing and he certainly wouldn’t have tried testing his luck.

Good thing for him, too, that the path itself isn’t exceptionally long, leading to an intricately etched stone entryway inset with a number of precious gems. It’s large enough to fit a couple of medium-sized monsters side to side with room to spare, and inset with a pair of stained glass double doors that are even more complicated than the ones surrounding it. He gets a very short glimpse of the complicated glasswork on the doors before Grillby pushes one open - with surprisingly little effort, to Crim’s bafflement - but what he sees is masterfully done, and Crim has no idea what kinds of tools must have been used to make it look as smooth as it is. The sheer _value_ of the etchings in the stonework, not to even mention the cut gems... it makes him nervous all over again.

What the fuck, Doggo. Where the hell did that guy even send him that has a yellow Grillby dressed up like a circus performer as a guide and a front door that could have, by itself, paid for a cozy lifetime in the Capital? His indecision upon the doorstep is cut short by a waft of much cooler air… along with the very distinctive scent of pot. As well, no sooner is the door fully open then a squeaky, shrill voice from inside makes itself known.

“Hey, Bee! Did you find the new guy? This is a matter of life or bits!” He immediately recognizes the voice and his initial hesitance instantly evaporates.

No. Fucking. Way. A wide, vindictive grin spreads across his face. Fink, caught toking in a place like this? It’ll be the final nail in the coffin for his annoying stalker habits.

Moving past Grillby and into the room proper, he sees a jarringly casual interior, complete with a circle of beanbag chairs housing a number of chatting monsters surrounding a large wooden coffee table decorated with various snack foods. A few are smoking, and a couple of those who aren’t glance up at him before returning to their respective conversations.

“What kind of monst- oh jeez!” comes the voice to his right that is definitely Fink’s -

But upon seeing the speaker, it definitely isn’t, much to his disappointment. The rat monster it’s coming from has dark brown fur and isn’t wearing anything but a pair of tan shorts. When Crim looks in their direction, they quiet down and duck behind a slightly larger, snow-white rat sitting next to them. The two of them are perched on the edge of some shelving about four feet off the ground along with a number of patterned ceramic bowls and plates that are held up on stone displays. Directly behind the two rats is a fairly large, intricately designed bowl that has a deeper center than the others and similar patterning to the door.

The white rat - who is sporting white fluff around the ears and a short pink dress - lets out a squeaky giggle that might well have been a cackle. They shove the other rat playfully, but it doesn’t stop the brown one from cowering. “Shoot! I can’t believe I owe you a whole five bits! I thought the new one was going to get lost again, Doggo’s handwriting is so beyond awful. Hey Bee! BEE!” the rat shouts up at the fire elemental with a wide smile that showcases a double pair of sharp buck teeth. “Didja haze the guy yet?” Crim is physically incapable of differentiating the two voices from _each other_ , much less that of Fink’s. All rodent monsters must sound the same, he guesses.

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath as the rats and Grillby chat behind him in a mostly one-sided conversation. He doesn’t see Doggo yet, but there’s another dog monster who has similar fur patterning to him underneath a bright blue tank top - he suspects they’re related in some way. As he’s eyeing the joint for a place to sit, he’s accosted by another, all-too-familiar, drawling voice that immediately secures his attention.

“Oh, heeey buddyyyy.”

Slick, of all people, is on the opposite end of the room, lounging bodily across not one, but two beanbag chairs and still somehow managing to dangle off the ends of both, lanky fucker that he is. Crim didn’t notice him on his initial sweep of the room because, for whatever reason, the guy is wearing a grey hoodie today instead of his usually distinctive orange.

“How in the fuck?” is the only thing that he can get out of his mouth when he occupies the empty beanbag chair to the left of the guy.

With the same hand holding what looks and smells like a joint, Slick draws a finger in front of his mouth, and with the other he leans over to press a button on the stereo sitting on the floor next to him. In response, the song shifts from jazzy elevator music to something even more obnoxious. The idiot makes an invisible archway with his hands before mouthing in time with the song, “Oh ho ho, i[ t’s maaagic ](https://youtu.be/L8mLrLDd-5Q?t=14s).”

“Funny,” Crim deadpans. “No no, hilarious really.” Slick leans back in his chair and takes another drag of his joint - it’s _definitely_ a joint - before grinning and giving Crim a wink. He offers Crim the joint after.

He stares at it for several long moments before shaking his head. “No thanks.”

“So, this really is a crack den then, huh?” There’s a few sputters and a wheezing laugh off to Crim’s right. He doesn’t get the joke, but Slick apparently thinks it’s hilarious.

“Not exhhhactly,” says Grillby, who seats himself right next to Crim on the opposite side of Slick’s breathy laughter. When Crim looks over, he has another one of those open-mouthed smiles on. It’s almost creepy seeing Grillby’s face smile that much, and Crim has to remind himself, again, that this isn’t _his_ Grillby.

“Then what is it?” He turns towards Slick again, but all he gets is a shrug and another grin. The fucker.

“A perfect place for stonering,” is all he gets out of him before he devolves back into laughter.

“Ooohkay, you’ve had enough,” Crim says before snatching the joint out of Slick’s hands. “Stars Slick.” He shakes his head and decides that yeah, he’s gonna need a little bit extra to help him through this mess. He takes a single drag before handing it over to Grillby.

The elemental gives the joint a cursory glance before, casually as anything, takes it and pops it into his ‘mouth’. Crim is caught staring slack-jawed at this development, but a couple of the other monsters in the room who’d noticed this issue a little cheer before going back to their conversations. Even Slick seems nonplussed at this loss, humming a final, short laugh at Crim’s expense before relaxing back onto his double beanbag perch with a contented sigh.

Shortly, Crim realizes why. The thick odor of the weed is still very prevalent in the room, and now it seems to be emanating just as strongly from the elemental as it is from any of the other tokers.

Conversations start up around him, but he doesn’t make an effort to be included in any of them, instead finding peace in just sitting back and enjoying the feeling of the weed slowly loosening the knot of tension in his body.

After a couple minutes of casual listening and zoning out, Crim realizes he’s hearing a pair of quiet but high-pitched voices that he probably shouldn’t be. When he looks around for the source, his eyelights focus on the two rats talking from across the room, since he doubts any of the other monsters can match the two obnoxiously shrill voices.

“Alright, enough stalling! Cough it up, loser.”

The white rat plucks at the frilly hems of their dress. “Do I _look_ like I’m carrying any money, dude? Wait, speaking of bets... I bet it was the new guy,” comes a conspiratorial but not-so-quiet whisper from across the room as the white rat gestures in Crim’s direction. That’s the point at which Crim knows he’s right, much to his confusion, before he realizes that it’s the deep-set plate behind them bouncing the sound in his direction.

“Uh, bet what about him, sis?”

“You know what about him! I bet he did it. Come on, let’s go ask him!” At the first rat’s obvious hesitance, the white rat sighs in shrill exasperation. “Oh for the love of bits, he’s friends with Paps and Doggo; how bad can he be?”

“No way! _You_ ask him if you want to know so badly,” comes the not-so-quiet response. “Do you even know how many skeletons are in the Underground? It’s probably not him at all! Plus, he’s all teeth,” the brown rat says, quailing. “He might even eat you! Why do you even want to bother him? He’s probably still pissed about dad.”

 _Dad, huh?_ Crim thinks, an inkling of who these two are starting to form in his mind.

“Oh please,” she huffs, “that’s so specist. Not everything with sharp teeth is a carnivore, genius, and the thing with dad was months ago. But hey, you know what? I want my five bits back if I ask. And _FIVE MORE_ if I’m right,” she adds, “as insurance due to the danger of being eaten and all that.”

“Sure, but you’re not actually going to though, ri—” there’s a little, horrified gasp as she jumps up and begins nimbly climbing down the shelving, a white-tufted tail aiding her balance. “SIS NO! Oh Stars, I can’t watch.” The brown rat hunches over and pulls their ears over their eyes for a moment before they follow.

Though Crim pretends not to watch, he can easily see the female rat making her way down the shelving and across the room as if she owns the place, nimbly ducking under legs and avoiding feet. Her sibling, however, stops their advance behind a beanbag chair housing a toking blue-furred rabbit monster, trying to stay hidden behind the guy’s long legs.

“Excuse me, sir! Pardon me and down here, if you have a moment!”

“And who’re you?”

“Leena Sivcalisfin Finkdatter! But that’s pretty long for most people, so you can call me Leena!” she jerks a thumb behind her at the nervous rat hiding behind one of the rabbit’s lanky ankles. “And that coward over there is my brother, Ether. So, um, Mister Skeleton, we heard you might have done a thing! Are you the famous repair skeleton everyone’s on about?”

 _Leena and Ether?_ The names actually sound familiar to him. _Wait, didn’t Slick mention these two before?_

“Crim’s fine, kid, and yeah, I do some stuff on the side.” He pauses for a moment, giving her a scrutinizing look that doesn’t seem to deter her at all. If anything, it seems to make her more excited. Feisty little thing, he can respect that, but he wouldn’t have imagined any of Fink’s kids would wind up in a place like this. Hell, it’s a small Underground after all. “So, Finkdatter, huh? Your daddy wouldn’t happen to be a repair guy too, would he?”

“I _knew_ it,” she whispers to herself excitedly before throwing her hands up over her head and blurting out a loud, “You are the _best_! And I’m not just saying that because I’m five bits richer right now, even though that’s pretty great too.”

When all Crim gives her is an odd look, she seems to take that as a cue to elaborate.

“Sorry, hehe, I made a bet. But Pa’s a right jerk!” she says, placing her little paws on either side of her muzzle and flattening her whiskers against her face. “He’s perpetually full of hot air and needed to be deflated, but nobody had the balls anymore, honestly. A few months ago, when he came home all sopping wet and ranting about ‘pressing charges against some upstart thug skeleton’,” she says, puffing out her chest and turning up her nose in a crude imitation of Fink’s cocky swagger. She giggles and drops it a moment later, and it draws a grin out of Crim. “Well, we all knew what _really_ happened. But the _best_ thing about it is that he’s had to rethink his business, which is something none of us have been able to make him do. So, you know, thanks! We owe you one. In fact, if you’re ever at the Waterfall Dump, feel free to hit us up! We live in the way _way_ back and do part scavenging and restoration, mostly. I’d bet my own tail that I could find you _anything_ ,” she finishes proudly.

“Huh. Yanno, I might take ya up on that. But hey, can I ask a question?”

“Yeah, sure, anything!” she says, leaning forward eagerly and putting her paws on the edge of the chair.

“What’s all this shit about? I mean this… whole,” he gestures at the whole room, “...Thing. This moron,” he gently shoves Slick in the shoulder, making the other skeleton chuckle almost drunkenly, “ain’t tellin’ me jack.”

“Oh, club rules, I can’t say,” she says, pulling back and giving Crim an apologetic smile. “The first rule of the UCR is that you don’t talk about the UCR.”

“Was that a Fight Club reference?” Crim says, cracking half a grin at her.

“Maaaaybe.” She giggles, placing her paws on her muzzle girlishly.

“Heh. So… The UCR, huh? What’s it stand for?”

The rat shrugs. “Can’t tell you. But the meeting is starting soon, so you’ll find out shortly! You should stick around for the main event, it’s really fun!”

Crim rolls his eyelights. “Alright, I get it,” he says, dropping his line of questions for the moment. “Jeez, you guys like your secrets.”

“Well, first rule about the UCR is-”

“Is that you don’t talk about the UCR, yeah yeah.” Crim waves away her explanation with a sigh, leaning more heavily into his chair. Leena seems a bit disappointed, but it doesn’t last. She waves over at her brother and walks over to get Slick’s attention instead.

“Papyrus, can we sit with you again?” comes the pleading little voice. Dragging her brother next to her, they both manage something akin to puppy eyes and looking so dramatically wretched that Crim is snorting in amusement despite himself. What little shits.

Slick, even stoned out of his gourd as he is, pats the side of one of his chairs invitingly. “Yuuup.”

The two small monsters waste no time clambering up and finding a comfortable place to nestle amongst the loose hoodie material just below Slick’s ribcage. Crim thinks at first that Slick is going to get robbed, but when all the rodents do is settle in and start gossiping about various other monsters in the room and the state of the Dump, that fear is dispelled.

Crim shakes his head in exasperation, keeping loose tabs on the two. Slick only has 1 HP and he lets these two climb all over him like it’s no big deal.

Luckily, he’s more than capable of doing two things at once. With his peripheral vision on Slick and the rats, he scrutinizes the room and its occupants. He might be able to find this shit out himself if the wait for whatever this is lasts much longer.

Aside from Slick and the two rodents, he recognizes a couple of the others: the one blue-furred rabbit here is definitely a low-ranking member of the Snowdin branch of the Royal Guard, and the dog monster with the teal tanktop is a guy he’s seen working at the Hotlands resort. The last one is probably a relative of Doggo’s, Crim guesses, noting the similar fur patterning. The others - a green-feathered avian almost directly across from him in the beanbag circle, a particularly chatty Loox on the other side of Grillby, and a black cat monster reading some sort of book atop of a red armchair against the wall to his left - are people he doesn’t remember running across.

As he saw earlier, the apartment itself is far less formally decorated than the door and entryway, instead having an old lady aesthetic to it that contrasts oddly with the toking monsters and the circle of beanbag chairs. There are heavy-looking desks and chairs lined up against the walls - obviously pushed out of the way for the circle around the central table - and all of the usual amenities have a distinctly antique-looking feel to them. Hell, the light overhead the coffee table is actually provided by a restored chandelier with little glass beads hanging from it. There’s even an extensive bookshelf on display near a doorway leading to another room in the ‘cave’, complete with a glass case. Hell, thanks to the air conditioning, if he hadn’t known he was sitting within one side of Hotland’s vertical walls, he would think he was currently somewhere in the upper class area of the Capital. But honestly, nothing about this is helping him make any sense of the situation. At this point, he’d actually make a wager on his theory regarding Doggo bribing some older monster into turning this place into a stoner’s sanctuary.

It takes the arrival of a new monster from the far doorway to startle him out of his study of the room. It’s a black fucking snake-dragon with red belly plating, a species he’s never seen nor heard about in his life. On first glance he stiffens, his panic reflex set off as the array of shiny black scales and multitude of small spines slithers into the room. Luckily, he’s able to shove the reaction down when a doubletake reveals that the monster seems to be completely absorbed in transporting a cup of something steaming between a pair of spindly wingclaws. The snake is holding whatever it is gingerly, like it’s going to scald them, and he finds it a bit harder to take the initially intimidating dragon-snake monster seriously when confronted with the bright pink heart-print potholder surrounding the cup.

Without fully taking his attention off of the newcomer, Crim leans over and nudges Leena with a finger to get her attention. “Hey, who’s the winged snake?”

“Hm? Oh, that’s Cabernak!” she squeaks up at him informatively. “He lives here, so our club meetings are technically held in his house! And he’s an Amphithere, not a snake,” she says.

 _He_ owns this place? It’s _his_? “Amp- Amptifere- what?” Crim tries, trying to fit this information together along with the pronunciation. Good thing he didn’t make that wager with anyone, or even mention it, actually. Even with the dainty potholder, he doesn’t exactly look like a guy Crim would want to piss off.

“Am-feh-tear-ay,” she repeats slowly. “A stoneshaper?” she adds helpfully, but at Crim’s continued look of confusion, she finally throws up her little arms in melodramatic exasperation. “You know, one of the original inhabitants? The guys who built the entire system of caves? The ones that made us able to live down here and travel from zone to zone?” Leena suddenly giggles. “Have _you_ been living under a rock?”

 _“Niiiice,”_ drawls Slick, placing his fist close enough to Leena so she can enthusiastically bump it.

Crim rolls his eyelights at the two, but they land back on the new monster - Cabernak? - as if drawn there. He sizes the guy up discreetly, trying to imagine him tunnelling through solid stone, but there’s some serious disconnect between the awkward way he’s handling a pink potholder and the image of a terrifying, rock-boring dragon. “There’s no way that guy carved out all that himself,” he says flatly.

“Oh, duh, of course not!” Lenna says. “His family did. But he made this apartment himself. Cool, right?”

“Yeah, cool,” he answers, distracted.

Unable to stop looking at the other monster for the moment, he watches as Cabernak makes his way over to an adjacent wall to hover in front of the cat monster sitting in the red armchair he’d spied earlier, and Crim’s scrutiny momentarily switches to her. The cat looks up at Cabernak with large, golden eyes that reflect the light of the floor lamp next to her, reminding him of Missy. When she shifts in her seat, the light also catches the edges of the sleek, black fur not hidden by the thick, knitted sweater she’s wearing, making it easier to see the whole of her while she tries to pull the blanket behind her further up over her shoulders. She’s rather thin for a cat monster, Crim notices.

“Heres you go, Nick!” Cabernak’s voice is louder - and much higher-pitched - than Crim would have thought, as well as rather unusual in the rise and fall of his words. He doesn’t sound like a native speaker, but what monster _doesn’t_ learn the common tongue first?

“Thanks Coal, you’re a star,” she purrs softly, looking up at him with a big smile. Cabernak’s spines ripple along his back as he ducks his head at the praise.

She takes the cup from him, still smiling, and Crim tilts his head a little, a small grin slipping onto his face when he flicks his eyelights back on Cabernak, watching the way his neck dips and how the spines on his back stutter and then flutter in a wave when Nick’s hands brush over his claws. The guy has no facial expressions, but it still isn’t hard for Crim to tell that he’s interested.

From the corner of his eye he notices a couple of the other monsters shake their head at Nick when she sniffs the drink with her eyes closed, nose twitching when the plume of hot steam hits it. Her eyes flutter when they open, but she puts the tea down on the table instead of taking a sip. The cup is steaming violently, like the liquid in it is still boiling hot.

“Smells delicious,” she tells Cabernak.

“I make it too hot again didn’t I?” he says a bit sheepishly, looking between the tea and Nick’s face. She just hums a laugh, her head tilting to the side. She pats a beanbag pushed right up against her chair that Crim had initially thought was a spare, and Cabernak goes to it immediately, curling around it before resting his upper body on the top. Despite having one eye on either side of his head, it’s obvious that Cabernak’s full attention is on Nick. “You sure it’s okay?”

“You made it just how I like it,” she returns.

With that, Crim relaxes enough to tune back into Slick and Leena, who are gossiping quietly about how painfully obvious it is that Cabernak and Nick are into each other. Crim can’t believe he was nervous of the guy up front - you can’t fake that kind of genuine friendliness.

““The Wasted Heart” _is_ good!” As Cabernak drops the title, Crim’s attention latches back onto the previous conversation for an entirely different reason. It’s cheesy enough to sound like-

“It’s an apocalypse romance, its _dramatic_ ,” Nick tells him, placing the back of her hand between the open pages of her book for emphasis.

 _Yeah, that’s something I would read,_ Crim thinks. In fact, he’s pretty sure he _has_ read one or two in the past that exist in a similar genre, one of which he wishes he’d actually been able to read in full since _his_ copy had water damage.

“Aaaaand?” Cabernak says, tilting his face up and steadily moving it closer to hers as he draws out the word.

“And it’s completely unrealistic, I mean mind control zombies? Really?” she says, obviously baiting him.

“Aaaaaaaaaand?” he repeats, gradually pitching his voice upwards and tilting his head so far that it’s almost upside down.

She smiles fondly at his dramatics. “And it’s good.”

Cabernak straightens out, chirping with obvious satisfaction. He taps his wingclaws together in front of him, making a distinct clicking noise that sounds like marbles to Crim. “I tell you! Carl and Nikita is the best!”

 _Now hold the fuck on, Carl and Nikita?_ Those are the names from his water-damaged copy. It takes him a moment, but it finally dawns on him with a mixture of glee and outrage: this universe has a fucking sequel to the half-a-novel he’s been trying to get his hands on - secretly, of course - for five years!? That means that they also probably have the original, and _that_ means...

“They are rather cute together,” Nick continues, heedless of Crim’s epiphany.

“Disgustingly so,” Crim mutters with satisfaction under his breath right before Cabernak answers.

“ARIATTI?!” he exclaims, the spines along his back flaring upwards. “They even share a cave! MULTIPLE TIMES!” He warbles and rears his head back on his neck enough that his beak is pointed at the ceiling. “Scandalous,” he mock-whispers at her before craning back over to look at the book itself. “So how far in is you?”

Nick holds the book out and removes her hand from the pages so he can read a few paragraphs. “They just escaped the Valley after Nikita was mind controlled again- Seriously, mind control zombies?? Who does that?”

A light punch to his shoulder drags Crim out of their conversation, so he never hears Cabernak’s response. Instead, he’s faced with a widely grinning Slick. He’s finally figured out how to sit up and is leaning heavily in Crim’s direction, leaving Leena and Ether to contently rest against one of his legs.

“...Crim? Hey.”

“What?” he bites, annoyed at being interrupted out of his eavesdropping.

“Doggo’s here,” Slick says with a nod towards the monster in question, like he’s repeating himself. Crim doesn’t follow his nod, instead taking his word for it. “It’ll begin soon,” the idiot says with an undertone of melodramatic flair.

“What will?” he asks again.

Impossibly, Slick’s grin gets wider. “Exaaaaaactly.”

Crim, frustrated, places a hand over Slick’s giggling face and pushes him back over to his own side of the beanbags. “Oh fuck off.”

“Mmmmaybe I’m just trying to be mysterious to catch your attention,” Slick says, wiggling his browbones the moment Crim is leaning back into his own chair.

“Or,” Crim says, snatching the newly lit joint from Slick’s fingers and handing it to Grillby, “maybe you’re just high as fuck.”

Slick watches with idle fascination along with Crim as Grillby pops the joint in his mouth without any prompting. Even if he’s expecting it this time, the presentation of the colorful elemental chowing down on a joint like it’s some kind of candy is surreal to him. There’s a new cheer from the same monsters as before, though it’s somewhat dulled the second time around. “Maybe it’s that, haha,” Slick says, and then sighs, leaning back heavily into his beanbag.

_Ting ting ting!_

The clinking of a spoon on ceramic cuts through the room’s conversation jarringly, and it quickly becomes silent enough to hear every bean in every chair move as every eye turns to the one making the noise. Doggo stands in the middle of the room, a coffee cup raised in front of him, dressed in what Crim can only describe as a _robe_. It’s dark brown and falls in waves upon the floor. It’s secured at the waist with a simple rope and it hangs open at the top, revealing his chest.

Normally, discovering that his host for the night might not be wearing anything besides a robe would have Crim incredibly interested in figuring out just how he can use that information to annoy his friend, but something curious happens that takes his attention away. Doggo makes a mystic gesture with his hand and several coffee pots appear, piquing Crim’s interest. His eyelights follow them as people start passing them around the room and Crim catches a whiff of a rich, heavenly scent… His eyelights linger on the dark liquid sloshing around in those glass containers.

_No, it can’t be-_

“Brothers! Sisters! And all those in between! Welcome!” Doggo exclaims enthusiastically, raising his cup towards the ceiling. People cheer and mimic his gesture. “It’s been a full month since we saw each other last, and what a month it’s been. We’ve had a few issues scheduling this time-” Doggo looks around but lingers on Slick, who gives a little wave. “But the danger has passed and it was decided we were safe enough tonight to meet again!”

There are mumbles breaking out and Crim catches at least two people asking quietly what might have made it so dangerous to meet. He doesn’t catch much more than that before his attention is on the cup Slick is receiving from an unfamiliar bear monster.

“Now, lets just enjoy our night and not worry any! We have anything under control!” Doggo pauses until everybody is quiet once again before he finishes with a loud, ”May your labor bear fruit!”

“What the _hell_ is going on?” Crim quickly whispers to Slick. Slick shushes him and passes him a cup of his own. Crim stares into it, then looks up at Slick taking a sip from his cup, then stares into his own again. “What the _fuck.”_

“May your labor bear fruit!” a chorus of voices repeat. Everybody takes a sip of the cup in their hands and a collective “ahh” announces the end of whatever speech Doggo just attempted. Then it’s like a spell breaks, and conversation breaks out everywhere again, drowning the room in noise like before.

Crim simply stares down at the steaming cup in his hands for a few seconds, dumbfounded.

“This is coffee,” Crim finally says, flabbergasted. He breathes in the delicious, rich scent, letting it linger on his tongue before he breathes out again. “This is coffee!” he tells Slick, but he still has to take a small sip to confirm his suspicion. Once he’s certain - _it really is fucking coffee! -_ he drains half the cup in one mouthful. It’s black, and bitter, and _perfect._

“Yeah! It’s why we’re here,” Leena says, holding up a thimble-sized container of the same stuff. Ether follows suit, clinking his thimbleful against hers.

Crim looks around at all of them, but no one elaborates. They’re all just fucking sitting around talking like this shit is _normal_ and he’s starting to lose his mind staring at the perfectly normal-tasting cup of black coffee in his hands. It isn’t long before he can’t stand it.

“What the _hell,”_ he mutters one more time before he raises his voice. “Why the _fuck_ is there so much ceremony over a Stars-damned cup of coffee!?” The room goes still at his loud question, the numerous voices petering out to silence, and a number of monsters look between each other in a way that almost looks anxious to him. Only Cabernak and Doggo look fairly at ease. “Is this a fucking cult, or- or seriously, what the fuck is going on?” he asks, very aware of the number of eyes on him.

At first, no one wants to answer him, that much is clear from the looks they all share - hell, someone even coughs into the silence - but then Slick sighs dramatically, breaking the tension. When Crim looks over at him, he’s shrugging a shoulder, like it’s no big deal. “Coffee was banned in Snowdin and Waterfall years ago after an… _incident,”_ he says before instantly taking another sip of his cup to avoid saying more.

“Incident?” Crim pressures. When Slick takes a ridiculous amount of time to finish his _one mouthful of coffee_ \- the idiot - Crim turns his eyelights on the rest of the little group assembled around him for answers.

Ether chimes in from Slick’s side when no one else does. “Papyrus’ brother went nuts after drinking too much a-and uh,” he pauses when Crim trains his eyelights down at him. “He-wrecked-so-much-havoc-Muffet-banned-it,” the little monster hurries to finish.

“He did _not_ just tell me this is all because of your bro,” Crim says, turning to look at Slick again. When he just receives another shrug and a grin, Crim rolls his eyes. What the actual fuck?

Doggo appears at his side right then, blowing out a plume of smoke. “...Skeleduuuude, I’m gonna tell you _The Story_.” Doggo leans heavily into Crim’s beanbag for a moment before capturing one of Slick’s now-unused ones and claiming it for himself, setting it up between the two skeletons.

It takes so long for him to get comfortable that Crim’s attention actually starts to wander towards Coal and Nick’s conversation when Doggo finally continues on from that somewhat-ominous statement. An elbow jabbed at his shoulder - which Crim belatedly swats at - effectively steals his attention back from the new book series the couple to the side are discussing.

“So, once upon a time,” Doggo starts dramatically, “there was a tiny skeleton named Sans…” It’s still disconcerting, hearing his name used like that only to describe someone that’s not him. One would have thought that after spending so long being _Crim_ that he would have gotten used to other people saying his name to someone else, but he’s not. It’s still as weird to him as it was the first day he arrived here and heard Slick call his brother Sans.

“Sans had a weakness,” Doggo continues, glancing around at all the monsters surrounding him. “He loved coffee, but coffee didn’t love him.”

“It’s like poison for him,” Slick interjects.

“Poison?” Crim asks, confused.

“He gets, like, super hyper-overactive whenever he drinks it,” Slick eagerly leans over Doggo’s lap to mock whisper to Crim. “He blacks to out and his body just takes him on autopilot-”

“Sans single-handedly caused the largest disaster the Underground has seen in years,” Doggo continues, talking over Slick like he isn’t there and trying to push his face back over to his own chair.

“Bullshit,” Crim says with a world of skepticism. Sure, Blue definitely has the ability to cause a major-scale fuckup, but there’s gotta be a line drawn somewhere...

“No no, it’s true!” Leena tells him, heedless of Doggo’s affronted huff. “Sans goes _nuts_ on coffee. Don’t you remember that breakdown in the CORE we had a few years back when the entire Underground was plunged into darkness for a week straight?”

There’s a communal shudder at this information. Apparently no one wants to relive those memories. Everyone except for Doggo, apparently. The guy is practically melting back over the rear of his chair until his ears start brushing the floor. Crim would have been concerned, but the loudest, most frustrated sigh he’s heard in a while stops him.

“Yeeeep, it was bad, and stuff,” Doggo gripes, twirling a finger in the air above himself, pointing at nothing in particular on the ceiling. “Man, in fact, it was probably the worst.”

Whatever Doggo’s deal is, it gives Crim just enough time to come up with an excuse, because no, he doesn’t remember the CORE going on the fritz, and for good reasons. “I thought that was a malfunction...” he says slowly, pretending to be thinking back.

“Nope! Little known fact: That was Sans,” Leena practically chirps with enthusiasm.

“How the hell-”

He’s interrupted by the other dog monster in the room. “He doesn’t remember what he said to the Ice Bunny, but she quit her job, haha!” There’s a long-suffering groan from the sprawled-out Doggo beside him, and the sound of Slick’s chuckling over it. “They had to call in Fink to build an automation for the Ice procedure and it took a week for him to do. Far’s I understand, damn thing runs down every so often since it’s constantly on.”

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of times the Guard gets shifted in for that crap,” the blue-furred rabbit monster adds. Knowing Fink, Crim believes it.

“Oh yeah?” Slick drawls. “That doesn’t beat _‘The Really Dangerous and Not At All Logical Bridge Trap_ _TM_ _.’”_ He even pitches his voice up like a salesman, and it causes Crim to snort in amusement despite his bewilderment of the situation. “Remember that?” Slick says. Everybody in the room lets out a loud groan.

“Oh, _that_ ,” says the rabbit monster, with a voice full of quiet horror.

“Sahhhns built a puhhhzzle,” Grillby adds succinctly, as if that explained everything.

The rabbit looks like he’s in physical pain from the memory. “Ah man, _that_ thing,” the rabbit repeats. “I couldn’t tell - hell, _nobody_ could - where it stopped or started, it had so many bizarre parts and doohickeys in it _._ It was _terrifying-”_

“Knowing the guy it was more likely a trap,” Crim interjects.

“You got that right, guy,” says the rabbit with another groan. He takes a drag on his joint before he continues. “He managed to capture three kids in it before the Captain figured out what he had been doing with all that junk from the Dump that he kept hauling back and forth,” he explains. “It took her almost three hours - with _help_ \- to get them out.”

“Oh yeah, the Dump was wrecked for _weeks_ after!” Leena adds eagerly from Slick’s lap. “I remember that! Dad had us clean the mess up because Sans’ withdrawal was too much for him to handle, so he couldn’t do it himself. I don’t know how someone can make the Dump look even messier, but Sans managed to! But me and my brother Finder found some cool stuff thanks to that, so, you know, _Finder’s keepers~,”_ she sing-songs.

There's a short lull in the conversation before someone says, “Remember the vents?” It causes an excited mutter of confirmations to break out.

“There’s even _more?”_ Crim asks, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, Sans kinda took a little run…” Slick says.

“A _little_ run?” Nick cuts in, putting her book down. “He trapped me in my apartment! Had it not been for Cabernak, I would have been trapped without food for a week.”

“ _What?_ ” Crim exclaims, “How the hell is that possible?”

“There miiiight have been a minor workers’ backlog on the CORE Management Crew due to some, uh, ruined vents,” Slick explains. He waves a hand through the clouds of smoke hovering above the group, like he’s trying to fan away the importance of the subject.

Nick rolls her eyes and with a shake of her head she leans forward to get closer to Crim, obviously not nearly as willing as Slick to let go of it.  “He _sprinted_ all the way to Hotland and back after he finished his crazy trap, and jumped a little _too_ hard on all the steam vents. He broke a number of them and the CMC had to get help clean up the damage. And, the CORE took longer to get back online after that, because it was hard for the monsters who couldn’t fly to get to work if they were coming from Waterfall. They even called in-” She looks at the monster still lounging on the beanbag at her side.

“Yes!” comes Cabernak’s loud voice, taking her cue enthusiastically. Crim turns to see the monster bobbing his head, apparently interested in their conversation now that Nick is. “I remember this! I am not part of the CORE Management Crew, and even I am moving things! It is a very long day for everyone, with many sore wings and tails. The Royal Guard is even called in to help, from the Capital!”

“Stars.” Crim can only shake his head at the information, not fully able to comprehend the damages they are describing. He’s trying - _he_ _really is_ \- to put Blue into the role of destroyer, but there’s just something that makes it hard to see. Yeah, he’s a pain in the ass, but he’s just a tiny fucking skeleton! Why did no one stop him? Why wasn’t he punished? He hasn’t heard a single fucking thing about this before now!

The Loox scoffs before chiming in. “What’s even worse than _that_ is that, when he was on his way back, he caused one of the main Waterfall rivers to flood because he thought damming it up with a bunch of junk would make it easier for people to cross! Everything got over-watered when the dam inevitably broke, washing away fields of echo flowers out of season and wilting a bunch of young echo trees.”

“Jeez, how’s he still even alive?” Crim says.

“If you think that’s bad, just wait ‘til you hear what happened next,” Slick says with a laugh.

 _“There’s more?!”_ Crim exclaims.

“Oh yeah and it’s much worse...” he says dramatically.

The rest of the meeting is a blur.

* * *

Crim is sitting on the couch with a cup of strong tea. It’s late morning and the house around him is quiet. The muffled sounds from a busy street outside reach him in his sleepiness and makes him dread what is to come later. He feels unnaturally exhausted, despite having slept for more than 8 hours straight. There’s a mild headache beating against his skull and he feels sluggish every time he moves.

The night before had been a one spent in heaven. Drinking coffee after so many months without it was like finding water in the desert, but Crim curses the one thing he hadn’t missed: Caffeine withdrawals.

Thinking back on last night, Crim is coming up a little short. Everything that happened after the Blue story is kind of a blur to him, including how he left the apartment in Hotland and returned to the guest room. He assumes he teleported, but when he tries to think back, his mind keeps coming up with clouds of smoke and the taste of coffee on his tongue.

Crim swears that whatever it was he drank, it wasn’t normal coffee.

The sound of footsteps on the staircase interrupts his thoughts. Looking up, he finds Slick coming towards him, yawning into the crook of his elbow. The guy is wearing nothing but a short-sleeved t-shirt and a baggy pair of sweatpants and looks like he just rolled out of bed.

Crim waits until he’s next to the couch before he asks, “What’re you doing up already?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” is his easy answer. Slick lets himself fall onto the couch next to Crim, his long limbs hanging of it, and Crim is intensely aware of the bare arm Slick casually throws over the backrest right behind him.

“You look good,” Slick says.

Crim takes a moment to process this though the gauze in his head before he recognizes the compliment. “What?”

“The clothes, they look good on you. Red really is your color.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks? I just needed something your bro hadn’t worn before me.”

“Mmh, it’s still a good look on you,” Slick responds. The silence that follows the compliment is heavy and thick between them. Slick - like always - doesn’t seem annoyed by it, but Crim feels it like a heavy blanket over his shoulders.

The first topic of conversation he can come up with is last night and he clings to it like a lifeline. “So seriously, what the hell happened last night? My skull feels like it was turned inside out, but I wasn’t fucking drunk.”

A coy smile comes to life on Slick’s face and he slowly lifts a finger to his mouth before he shushes him. A single wink makes Crim’s right eye twitch.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asks.

Slick chuckles as he shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. “I have no idea what you’re talking about~”

Whatever Crim is about to say in response is drowned by the sound of Blue barreling down the stairs. His arms are full of bags and his shirt is actually on backwards - a clear sign that the small skeleton overslept. He’s letting out mild curses in between his chant of “late late late, I’m late”.

“Hey bro,” Slick calls out to him when he vanishes into the kitchen.

“Good morning Papy!” Blue yells with his horrible trademark volume, not even stopping to address Slick. “I’m late for the competition so I have to run, but do you need anything?” Blue comes flying out of the kitchen and goes to the hallway to put on his jacket.

“No, I’m good bro.”

“Okay, I’ll be at Al’s until we need to leave at noon, so just call if you need me before that.”

“We’ll probably just hang at Muffet’s all day. Promised to go with this knucklehead to the Karaoke Happy Hour so he can sing all night.”

“Hey! You practically _begged_ me to go!” Crim exclaims in his own defense.

“Oh was that how it happened? I must have forgot.”

“Idiot.” He gives Slick a playful shove, causing the other to tilt and dramatically faceplant into the mess of blankets and pillows lying on his end of the couch.

Blue pauses at the door, turning around to give his brother a look that Slick doesn’t see. “Be careful Papy,” he says with a heaviness in his voice Crim can’t place.

“Always am, bro,” he says, voice muffled from speaking into the fabric.

Blue hesitates at the door for another second before he breathes out a sigh and opens it. “I’ll text you when I’ll be back! Food’s in the fridge ready for the oven and-”

“Bro, just go,” Slick says, pushing himself up just enough to offer Blue a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine.” He then drops back in and lifts an arm from the pillow mountain he’s caught in to wave at his brother.

“Alright,” Blue finally relents with a hesitant smile. “See you!” And with that, he disappears out the door, leaving them alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We originally wrote the notes for this chapter as a joke, but now we're going to call it our canon April Fool's chapter. Hope you enjoyed! ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Come say hey on Tumblr and get exclusive extra content for this fic!  
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~


	19. Dinner For Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaay folks, howzit! So, we're getting this one out, spot on, right in the middle of the day for those nice patient folks who have been WAITING FOR A SMUT CHAPTER FOR YEARS. Yeah guess WHAT it's FINALLY HERE! So, you know, welcome to honeymustard smut town because that's ... most of this chapter, honestly. The part AFTER the smut is pretty critical to the story and the characters, however, so if you don't want to read about all the sexy things you should likely skip to where the pictures are. When you hit the first one, you've gone a little far but you won't get dicks in your face at least. Now, for the people in the back:
> 
> **YO THERE IS A LOT OF SEX IN THIS CHAPTER GUYS SO MAYBE DON'T READ IT IF YOU'RE NOT INTO THAT!**
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> \- Mercy and Shiv

## ~ Chapter Nineteen ~  
Dinner For Two

 

 _“So tell me the secret_  
_Is there a way into your heart?_  
_Cause I want to believe it_  
_Oh will I be wishing  
until the last falling star”_

 _“Until the last falling star”_ by Matthew Perryman Jones

* * *

Nearly thirteen hours later Crim and Slick are stumbling through the snow-covered streets, on their way home after their night at Muffet’s. Crim is plastered. Not only to Slick’s side, but also as a consequence of drinking half the bar - or at least what felt like it. Happy Hour Karaoke night at Muffet’s is a dangerous thing and Crim should definitely not have had that last cider.

One of Crim’s hands is latched securely in the back of his companion’s hoodie, while a longer, narrower hand is hooked underneath Crim’s arm for support. It has the effect of pushing his cheek into Slick’s side whenever he misses a step, and he relishes the distinct smell of smoke that Blue can never quite fully remove from his brother’s clothing. How could he _ever_ have hated this scent?

When they finally reach the house, instead of ducking back, he leans uncomfortably close into the other’s side so they can cross together. Across the threshold of the house, he finds himself clinging to Slick’s side, face pressed into the soft fabric hard enough to feel ribs on the other side of the material. The breathy moan that gets partially muffled by Slick’s clothing makes the other monster stiffen.

“Crim,” Slick tries, “what are you doing?” Crim can hear the uncertainty ring like a crystal bell even through his inebriation and it’s only then he realizes he’s a bit _too_ close to his friend.

His fingers clench in the hoodie for a moment before he pulls away from the other skeleton with a crooked smile. His balance is unstable, but he’s alright as long as he isn’t going anywhere. “I get it, I fuckin’ get it.” He tries to laugh it off, but all he wants is to bury his Stars-damned face back into Slick’s scent. _Shit._ What the hell _is_ he doing? What is he even saying? “It’s weird, right? It’s too fuckin’ weird. It’s good. You can- you can call me a sick fuck and we can call it a night. Forget this shit ever happened.”

“What are you saying?” Slick echoes his thoughts.

“ _I_ _mean_ ,” he says hurriedly with an overly dramatized shrug and a widening of his facade of a grin, “when he doesn't get any for a while, a guy starts gettin’ a lil’ _desperate_ , yanno?” He looks anywhere but Slick’s face when his expression falls, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. _Stop talking, Crim!_ “I’m a bit much for most of the fuckin’ cream puffs that live here, so my options are a lil’ more… uh, slim _._ Heheh.”

“You know that’s not-”

“I know, Slick, jeez do I fucking _know_ . You got my brother’s face. There’s no way in hell I should even be thinking about it. There’s fucked up and then there’s _fucked up_ . I mean, where do you even begin to look for the screw that’s loose here? Having the, you know… _thoughts_ that I’ve been having, about someone that could easily be your bro’s twin, is just so wrong in so many damn ways.”

“Thoughts?” Slick comments. The slight rise in his voice makes Crim’s neck crawl with discomfort. Fuck him and his stupid big mouth. All Crim had to fucking do was keep his dirty sins to himself and everything would be _fine. So why is he still talking?!_

“You _don’t_ want to know, _trust me_ ,” Crim says in a rush, shaking his hands in front of himself. “But hey, what can a skeleton do? Desperate and horny is a combo that guarantees disaster. One day it’s just small things you notice and the next you’re jerkin’ it to the thought of your bro’s doppelganger because he looks _appetizing_ in that new hoodie of his.” _Shut the fuck up Crim._ “You know, I think I’ve thought up about sixteen different ways I want to rip that damn thing off you.” _Just fucking kill him now._

There’s barely any pause before a response comes. “Then why don’t you?” Slick manages to say while Crim is drawing in a breath, which he then promptly chokes on. The words are quickly followed by a dark blush invading Slick’s face. When all Crim do is gape at him, Slick stuffs his hands into his pockets before shrugging, like he’s brushing his question off the table again.

“I’m not saying you have to,” he says, sounding way too casual for the situation. “I get why you’d think it’s weird. I’ve never seen your bro, but if I look so much like him, then I get it.”

“What...”

“It’s not weird to me,” Slick decides to add while Crim stands frozen before him. “Sure, you look a bit like my bro, but you’re you, Crim, not him. You’re loud, rude and have a filthy mouth, and I think I kinda like that. Never thought I would fall for the “bad boy”, but hey, look at me now.” He lets out a nervous laugh and scrapes the toe of his shoe on the carpet, eyelights looking down. Crim is barely able to understand the words being spoken to him.

Crim shakes his head once roughly from side to side to clear it, but instead it just makes him dizzy. “Wait, what? Hold the fucking phone... Did you just say what I think you did?”

The taller skeleton simply shrugs, seeming to find the garish carpeting more interesting than the conversation at hand. His face is telling, however, as it’s still heavily darkened by his magic.

Crim takes a step forward, grabbing double fistfuls Slick’s hoodie roughly and dragging him down to his eye level. Only when he’s staring the other square into his eyesockets does he start speaking again. “Oh-fuckin’-kay. None of this ‘meh’ stuff. You gotta be fuckin’ clear. No… no bullshit.” He clears his throat before taking a deep breath, weighing his next words with somber resolve. “Do you really want me or are you just messing with me?”

There’s a few seconds of painful silence that makes Crim hold his breath. All he can see is the other’s face - the soft flickering shadows of orange eyelights in the back of Slick’s sockets.

It startles him when the other closes the handful of centimeters between them. The unexpected movement catches him off-guard, and he seems just as surprised as Slick when the other’s very familiar magic brushes just over his mouth. It’s only his deathgrip in the other’s hoodie that keeps him from falling flat onto his ass.

It’s the second time he’s found himself speechless tonight - a markedly rare occurrence. This time, however, it’s the feeling of something smooth and pliant pressing hesitantly against his face that’s stealing the words from his throat. The sudden close proximity of foreign magic provokes a surge of desire to protect himself a split-second before the reality of what’s happening crashes into him.

Just as Slick is about to pull back, Crim shifts the weight on his feet to make his body tilt forward, making sure their contact isn’t broken. It’s a kiss, he realizes, a fucking _kiss._ It’s proof he’s not losing his damned mind, that the tension between them isn’t just his imagination - Slick must feeling it too.

He feels his own magic stirring in his chest in response when he unconsciously makes the decision to reciprocate. This time when he presses forward, instead of brushing against bone, Slick’s magic shifts against his own and now he can really _feel_ the kiss. Raw and potent and full of nigh-overwhelming intent, it floods him with sensation that feeds right back through his soul, blocking out everything else. Sight and sound and thought are drowned in a sea of brilliant discord, and for the briefest of moments, he feels a connection singing between them.

It’s even more mind blowing than he remembers - feeling someone else so close, so intimately. Each slip-slide of their magic against each other intensifies everything and Crim _feels._ He feels a rush of worry, a dash of desperation and just a hint of uncertainty, but all are quickly drowned by the pure, raw _joy_ singing through their temporary connection. He knows it’s not supposed to be like this, not this intense, not this all-consuming, but he can’t stop himself from diving deeper, searching for that scalding warmth he feels brushing against his soul with featherlight touches.

All his previous experiences seem to pale in comparison, and in the mix of feelings rushing through his soul, he struggles to understand why that is, why kissing _Slick_ is different. He has tried explaining how it feels to other monsters before - mainly the dogs of his world - but there’s not really anything that can explain just how intimate kissing is for skeleton monsters, how the flood of emotion can feel almost as intense as a soul touch. How their magic is an extension of themselves and that used the right way can feel just as real as any of their limbs.

Crim doesn’t register Slick’s hands pressing against his lower back, pushing him against his chest, or even the way he’s desperately clutching at the fabric across the other’s shoulderblades until he backs off to take a needed breath.

“ _Hhholy shhhit_ ,” he gasps, unintentionally slurring his words a bit. He feels lightheaded as the rush of magic and emotion recedes… and begins to quickly pool south instead. “Holy _shit_ ,” he repeats with a little more urgency, staring into Slick’s glazed expression. “You… fuck,” he laughs breathily as he disentangles himself from the taller skeleton’s weak grasp.

“Me, yeah,” Slick says, dumbfounded.

Crim glances towards Blue’s room, weighing his options in his head. “When’s the kid gonna be home?” he asks.

“Hmm? Who, Sans? Not until tomorrow I think. He usually stays at Alphys’ after the tournaments.” Crim’s face splits in a grin.

“Perfect,” he purrs, stepping closer to Slick again. “Then you just bought your ticket. Let’s go cash it in, shall we?”

The other has to blink a few times before Crim’s words seem to register, and even then his features remain a tad misty. “Ticket?”

Crim winks, his grin turning saucy. “To the bonezone, party of two.”

He didn’t think it was possible for his friend to flush a deeper shade of orange, but then again, there are a lot of surprising things happening tonight. Crim chuckles at the color and grabs a fistful of hoodie to both drag Slick and anchor himself as he marches towards the stairs.

“Is, uh, is this a limited time offer?” The belated, mumbled words from behind make Crim snort in amusement.

“Babe, it’s multi-use, satisfaction guaranteed.”

“...Nonrefundable?” Something about the tone sours the playful banter and makes Crim glance back with one hand on the doorknob to Slick’s room.

Slick is looking anywhere but him, his hands deeply seated in his hoodie pockets and his hunched pose angled off to the side. Everything about him reeks of nerves, and the sight makes him pause. Confusion flits across Crim’s face faster than his slogging thoughts can come up with an answer. Slick was so fucking _eager_ a second ago. What happened?

“Hey.” He releases both Slick’s hoodie and the doorknob, electing to lean against the door for support instead and cross his arms over his chest. It’s difficult, but he’s making a real effort to think with his head instead of his libido. “I can’t help but notice that you kinda... aren’t into this. Slick...” he says with almost jarring gentleness, trying to catch the other’s eyelights with his own. “M’not gonna force you into anythin’. You don’t wanna do this, you can tell me to fuck off.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a conflicted look on the other’s face. Slick takes a deep breath before meeting Crim’s gaze. For a moment they just stare at each other while Slick’s expression flickers between some pretty complicated feelings.

Slick shrugs, obviously going for the nonchalant approach but failing miserably. His entire body is trembling. “Just wanted to say that you might not eh… like the quality of the show. Thought I should warn you before you committed to anything.” This has Crim raising a browbone at his companion while his foggy mind tries to decipher whatever that means.

He loosens his posture and steps away from the door. When close enough to feel the other’s soul radiating warmth from his chest, Crim reaches out a hand to run it along Slick’s upper arm in a hopefully comforting way. Slick leans into the touch almost instantly, his eyesockets closing briefly as if he’s savoring the feeling.

“Let’s cut the crap,” Crim offers softly, keeping his tone light and open. “Tell me for real. Do you want this?”

Slick has a moment of hesitation where he’s conflicted again. Then he nods carefully. “Yeah, I really fucking do.”

“So what has you acting all scared? Afraid I’m gonna hurt you? Because I can tell you right now I’m not into that shit. I’d never do anything you’re not on board with.” He feels like he should make that clear right now. He knows that where he comes from might have given Slick the wrong idea of what kind of person he is. It’s not the first time one of Crim’s partners had thought he was into some strange, painful stuff.

“Nah, I know you won’t,” Slick answers. One of his hands migrates from the warmth of his hoodie pocket to tangle with the one Crim has been stroking up and down his arm. Their fingers squeeze together once before he continues. “I guess I’m just trying to tell you I’m gonna suck because it’s my first time.”

That statement has Crim pausing while disbelief courses through him. He almost wants to laugh and call bullshit, and he would have done that, had it not been for Slick’s serious expression.

“Your ex-” Crim starts, struggling to come to terms with this information.

Slick shakes his head. “We never got that far- but I know what goes where,” he hurries to add when Crim’s expression turns blank. “I’m not inexperienced. Just never got to the actual _sex_ part before. Mostly because of… you know. The whole not having enough magic thing.”

The arousal that has been humming in Crim’s bones curdles in record time. It feels like he sobers up instantly, because whatever buzz has been crawling along inside his skull is gone. He barely even has to think before the decision is made and he steps back to leave a respectable amount of space between them.

“Yeah, we’re not doing this tonight,” he says, biting back a sigh. He closes his eyesockets and slowly shakes his head. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep instead.”

“It wasn’t meant like that!” Slick rushes to say. He pulls at Crim’s arm when he turns to walk into the bedroom, and Crim consequently ends up dragging Slick with him. “I swear I want it- I want _you_. I’m just nervous. I don’t know if I’m gonna be good enough for you and I just wanted you to know that before we started.”

Crim drags him through the door and closes it before guiding Slick to the bed. He pushes the other skeleton down on it and leaves him there. Walking away from a sight like that, of Slick lying on the bed with an expression like that is the hardest damn thing he’s ever done, but he needs some distance or he’s going to go against his own morals.

“Doesn’t matter, Slick,” Crim says while shrugging his jacket off and keeping his eyes on a far wall. The jacket ends up on the floor along with his sweater. All that leaves him in is his t-shirt and the cold air starts wrapping around him. He’s eager to get under the covers and snuggle up to Slick. At least he can have that, his mind tells him. At least one of his ridiculous daydreams will come true tonight.

“Come on, I can’t be _that_ bad. I mean, I watch porn and jack off dude. It’s not like I’m completely innocent here.” Slick’s voice has taken on a slightly higher tone; one that tells Crim he’s beginning to lose his cool.

He moves to the bed quickly and lets himself slide into the small space between Slick and the headboard, making their legs press together. Slick shifts to face him and grabs his hand. Crim gives him a smile. “It’s not ‘cause you’d be a bad fuck, babe,” he says. The endearment falls of his tongue easily, like it’s something he’s always been saying. It only makes him fumble flusteredly for a moment before he finds the words to continue. “I’d love whatever the fuck you’d do to me, but I ain’t gonna let you make a decision like this while drunk. Fuck no. I’d rather wait ‘til you’re sober to have you, than wake up tomorrow with you regretting it.”

“I’m not drunk,” Slick says, “and I’m not going to regret it. I know what I’m doing, pal.” Slick’s gaze jumps to his lap, the blush on his cheeks burning a little brighter. Almost like it’s an afterthought, he adds, “It’s not the first time I’ve thought about it. Just never thought you’d been thinking about it too.”

It takes Crim exactly three swallows to feel his throat open again. _Shit_ . It’s like Slick knows _exactly_ what buttons to push to make Crim’s vision blurr. “Yeah right,” Crim forces out, airing his disbelief. “I saw you have at least three drinks at Muffet’s tonight. If you’re not drunk then I’m a damn Moldsmal.”

“Virgin,” it all Slick says.

“I got that,” Crim responds flatly, only barely holding back an eye roll. “It’s why we’re not fucking right now.”

“No, the drinks. They were virgin. I didn’t get any alcohol tonight.” Slick’s gaze rests on Crim’s face until he can see the realisation light up. He answers the question that pops up before Crim speak it out loud. “I have a- a problem, and Muffet knows. So, she makes my drinks virgin to help me. I know they’re not going to get me drunk, but not having to ask for it kinda makes it more fun to go out with friends, you know? Keeps some of the illusion there. Like it’s normal.” Slick shrugs and looks away.

It’s like something clicks in Crim’s mind. Suddenly, all the small hints and subtle comments from the past months make sense: Slick not having a hangover after a night out, Slick always drinking the same cider, always unwilling to share - probably because he knew Crim would be able to taste the lack of alcohol. All those talks they had, every time Slick mentioned alcohol with that slight hint of guilt and disgust, like it was something he would rather forget. It all makes perfect sense now.

Slick’s a recovering alcoholic.

And now that he knows, Crim can’t believe he hasn’t put the pieces together before now. He feels so _stupid_ and a solid wave of guilt washes in over him. He has been dangling Slick’s poison of choice right in front of him so many times. How many times has his ignorance almost made Slick crack? Crim doesn’t even dare imagine the number. Just the possibility makes him feel sick.

“So if that’s the reason, then there’s none,” Slick continues when Crim says nothing. “‘Cause I’m not drunk. Not even a little bit. If you feel like you’re ok with doing this, then by all means. Jump my bones.”

“You’re… You’re not shitting me?” Crim asks slowly, still processing. He just has to be 100% sure he isn’t misunderstanding this.

“Do you want me to call Muffet so she can tell you?” Slick asks back. He pulls out his phone and looks at Crim patiently, waiting for his answer. It comes in the form of a small nod.

“It’s not because I don’t trust you darlin’, but with something like this…”

“I get it. You wanna be sure.” He pushes a few buttons and within four seconds the first ring of an outgoing call sounds. Slick puts the phone on speaker.

The call is picked up and the noises they just left behind at the bar rush into the room. “It’s not _rocket science_ Pap, it’s a dick. Just be nice to it and it will thank you in the best way possible.” Muffet’s voice is full of laughter and mischief.

“Hi Muf, soooo not why I’m calling,” Slick says quickly. “I’m here with Crim-”

“I _bet_ you are. Hey loverboy, you treat my Pap nicely, you hear me?” Muffet says.

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else, Muffet.” Crim’s face flushes instantly. Okay, so _she_ obviously knows what’s going on. Why does she always know? _How_ does she _always_ know?

“Can you please tell him I’m not drunk and explain why?” Slick asks her. There’s a pause on the phone before Crim hears movement. After a door clicks closed, there’s a silence. The sounds from the bar are now muffled.

“Oh,” is the first thing she says. She draws in a deep breath and lets the air out in a sigh. “He didn’t get alcohol tonight,” she starts. “He’s not allowed to drink in my Café because of what happens when he gets drunk.”

“What happens?” Crim asks slowly, feeling a hint of apprehension immediately after. That’s a bit too personal. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked.

“He stops caring.” An easy answer that chills Crim to his core. He looks up at Slick and is met with a sad smile. “So, whatever you are afraid of, don’t be. He’s sober. No one in Snowdin is allowed to sell him alcohol. Sans’ orders.”

“My bro made a demand the last time I, uh… had an ‘episode’,” Slick says. “Either I cleaned up and agreed to never touch another drop again, or he moved out. He couldn’t stand seeing me like that. And I couldn’t stand the thought of living alone, so I did what he said. I can live without alcohol, but not without him.”

There’s a tensed silence while his words sink in. It’s barely a minute later when Crim’s chest starts burning again, his magic stirring eagerly in his chest. “You better hang up that phone right now,” he says, voice thick, “because I’m gonna kiss you in about three seconds and I’m not gonna stop anytime soon.”

“Have fun,” Muffet says a second before she hangs up. Slick drops the phone on the floor and twists around so he can catch Crim, who jumps him the moment the call ends.

Slick falls backwards onto the mattress with his hands still clinging to the back of Crim’s flimsy t-shirt. The magic over their mouths press together and the explosion of sensation from earlier returns.

Where is it all _coming_ from? A kiss has never felt like this before. It sends tendrils of white-hot desire snaking down his spine, narrowing down his reality to the contact and leaving him breathless. He loses seconds of his life to the all-consuming exhilaration before the overwhelming feeling has him pulling back to catch his breath.

Blinking dazedly, he finds his hands are planted on either side of the other’s head, knees parted over Slick’s upper body. His partner is slower to recover, but it’s obvious where his mind is, as Slick’s hands are solidly connected to Crim’s outer thighs, thumbs digging into the magical flesh between his pubis and femur.

While the other is still incapacitated, Crim nuzzles his face right up against the side of his neck. “Hey sweetheart,” he breathes huskily against the exposed bone before swiping his tongue teasingly over the few visible vertebrae. He hears Slick’s breath hitch in his throat, and feels the fingers around his hips tighten marginally. “M’gonna take good care of you, don’t you worry.”

* * *

**_Slick’s POV_ **

He feels fingers plucking at the material over his sternum before he registers what’s going on, and the next thing he knows, there’s the vibrating peal of a zipper being drawn downwards. He’s arching his neck to the side so Crim can get a better angle with his tongue, and _fuck_ that feels good. However, his hands loosen their grip as the other pulls back and an answering _tink_ from the base of his hoodie reveals why.

Crim pushes the orange material apart, revealing a familiar tank top that instantly has the shorter skeleton guffawing before Papyrus’ face even has time to mold into an expression of embarrassment. “No, no, it’s just - you’re even wearing the damn thing,” Crim explains as Papyrus feels heat rushing to his cheeks. “You’re beautiful, darlin’, but this shirt right here is just, heh, humerus.” There’s a few beats of silence as Crim sits back and stares, those white eyelights of his raking over Papyrus’ exposed bones in a distinctly hungry fashion. The scrutiny of his gaze has Papyrus fidgeting a bit. “I can’t complain about it too much though - not when it shows you off like this. And here I didn’t think you could get any more perfect. Fuck,” he breathes.

Crim leans forward again for a kiss, and Papyrus sinks into the feeling once more. At first, it was completely mind blowing having someone else's magic be so close he could literally taste it, but the more they let their mouths and the small barrier of magic between them brush over each other, the easier it is to recognize Crim in the way his magic vibrates. Even the sparks of emotion lighting up in Papyrus’ soul feel familiar, so even though it’s still intense, he’s slowly getting used to it. He’s beginning to crave the feeling of having Crim so close. Everytime Crim pulls away, Papyrus just wants him even more.

He feels the gentle scrape of reverent fingers along his clavicles, dipping under the hanging material of his hoodie and disappearing over his shoulders. “How ‘bout you scoot up for me a lil’, sweetheart?” The way Crim so easily let’s those endearments curl in the air between them has Papyrus feeling a little lightheaded. How long has he wanted to hear those words, and now that he finally is, he can barely believe his luck.

Papyrus can feel the fingers on his shoulders insistently pushing down the loose material covering them. He moves, pulling back as Crim’s hands brush down the long bones of his arms, and the hoodie falls away completely. It gets thrown to the side, landing somewhere near the back wall.

He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, so he ends up just placing them in his lap. Crim tsks at him briefly and lifts his arms up, guiding them around his neck. Papyrus is grateful for something to hold onto, so he buries his fingers in the material of Crim’s t-shirt, using it as an anchor.

“Are you nervous?” Crim asks quietly. He doesn’t wait before he dips down to let his mouth trail over Papyrus’ jaw and along his neck, the magic shielding his teeth sending small sparks of pleasure through his bones. The sensation is unlike anything he’d ever experienced by himself and has him wringing his fingers in Crim’s shirt. His little huffed gasps at the contact cause the other to respond in a low and rumbling chuckle - almost a purr - that vibrates through his skull.

“It’s - I don’t know,” he manages sheepishly, voicing the stone of guilt lodged somewhere in his chest. “I don’t know what I should be doing for you. _To_ you?”

A hand lightly cups Papyrus’ cheek, and he automatically leans into it, feeling the warm static of Crim’s magic trickling through the touch. It gives the bones a texture similar to smooth, malleable glass. “Babe, this ain’t about me. It’s about _you._ ” The thumb swipes fluidly over his cheek, tracing the defining ridge below his eye. “It’s about how you feel and what you like. You don’t gotta do nothin’. Heh.” Crim produces one of those smaller, taciturn grins of his; the kind that just barely bites back a whipcrack of humor. “You do more than enough just bein’ you, so relax. We’re gonna take it slow. Make it whatever you want. Gonna make this the best damn night of your life.”

Something in the way he says it makes Papyrus’ soul stutter in his chest. A powerful urge to have him close again makes Papyrus drag Crim into another kiss. His longer arms slide around Crim’s neck, fingers scraping over his skull. A deep rumble vibrates through the other’s chest as he presses closer to Papyrus, deepening their kiss to the point where their emotions start bleeding together.

Driven by curiosity and a desire to draw more sounds from the skeleton above him, Papyrus lets a hand brush from Crim’s skull and down over his back. It’s supposed to be easy to feel Crim’s ribs through his thin shirt, but his palm meets the resistance of soft, yielding magical flesh on it’s way down his spine. Crim is working his way down over Papyrus’ neck, peppering it in kisses and teasing licks, and all Papyrus can do is bite his teeth together so no embarrassing sounds escape his mouth.

The tips of his fingers dig into the flesh of the meaty hips they end on, an action that’s desperately trying to control the _want_ blazing in his soul. Something about feeling Crim’s magic and how it’s manifested itself on his body makes Papyrus’ soul howl with all kinds of good emotions. That his magic has steadily built up is possibly the clearest indicator of the other’s level of comfort: a physical sign of Crim being safe and happy in Papyrus’ world. Instead of using it to fight for his life and constantly agonizing that each day will be his last, he’s warm and soft and _relaxed_ . It makes Papyrus feel _proud_ to be part of the reason for that.

He can’t stop himself from grabbing a handful of Crim’s ass, plump and plush even through the thick fabric of his pants. Though he’s known how pudgy the other has been for some time, he’s never had the opportunity to really take advantage of it before, and the press of his fingers into the supple flesh is incredibly satisfying. It makes Crim grin against his neck and hum a little laugh. The vibrations of the sound seem to run all the way down his spine.

“We’re getting a bit handsy there, aren’t we?” Even though Crim’s words are cast in a teasing light, they still make him uncertain.

“Does it bother you?” The hand still on Crim’s butt loosens until he’s only cupping the curve instead of gripping it.

“Nah,” Crim says as he pulls back enough for Papyrus to see the aftermath of a playful grin on his face. “Just didn’t think you’d be interested in that. All this extra magic ain’t exactly _flattering_.” His eyelights stray from Papyrus’ face for a moment. A moment too long, in his opinion.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, surprised. A second hand joins the first, completing the ass-symmetry. “You’re so _hot_. I could just eat you up.”

“Why don’t you?” Crim’s smile widens to shit-eating levels and a browbone arches invitingly at the willingly trapped skeleton.

“ _Fuck,”_ Papyrus breathes, taken aback. Sure, he’d left that wide open, but that lack of hesitation-

“Is that a yes?” he asks, sitting back. Papyrus follows him, hands sliding up to easily wrap around Crim’s lower back as he leans away, unwilling to part with the body held tightly in his arms. Crim practically ends up in his lap, and he’s only a bare inch or two below Papyrus’ eye level.

“Are you serious? You’ll let me do that?”

“Let you pleasure me?” Crim asks. “I can’t find a single reason not to.” Papyrus’ hands clench around Crim’s hips and he draws him closer to his chest until he can feel the silent buzz of the other’s soul through his ribcage. Excitement begins to bubble through him. It’s apparently visible, because Crim starts chuckling. He stretches up to brush a soft kiss to Papyrus’ forehead before speaking again. “Tell me what you like, babe…” His words tickle against Papyrus’ face. “What kinda parts do you prefer?”

“I really don’t care,” Papyrus answers just a bit too quickly in his eagerness. Confronted with those hooded eyes and the occasional flash of conjured tongue between sharp teeth, all he can do is hope that he isn’t dreaming, because _fuck,_ did Crim _really_ just ask him that question?

“Okay then,” Crim says. “I’ll give you my specialty.” There’s a moment of silence as he feels Crim’s magic spike, and then the other lets out a groan that makes Papyrus’ bones tingle. Crim moves off of him, much to Papyrus’ dismay, but as soon as he’s lying comfortably on the pillows at the head of the bed, he wiggles a finger at him seductively.

“Well? Are you gonna open your present or not?” Papyrus has never moved this fast in his life before, teleportation included. He’s on Crim instantly, his hands already working on getting the smaller skeleton out of his pants. When he succeeds and Crim is deliciously pant-less, he has to sit back and swallow a groan threatening to break him apart.

There’s just _so much_ going through his mind right now, so many ideas and desires. He _wants_ so badly, can’t believe he’s actually allowed to look at Crim like this, and even less that he has permission to actually _touch him_ too.

“You are so _hot_ ,” he says in a soft murmur.

“You really know how to make a guy feel special, don’t ya?” Crim’s eyes dart to the side when Papyrus looks at his face again. He leans forward and brushes his mouth over the blush staining Crim’s face, making him sigh softly. It’s not long before Crim tilts his head back so their mouths meet in a kiss again.

Fingers tangle themselves in the thin fabric of his tank top, digging in between his ribs and brushing along the edges of his spine. The responding slow hum left behind by the featherlight touch has him exhaling heavily as his magic slowly starts coming to life. The feeling has become so unfamiliar to him that it takes a moment to recognize the pleasure flickering on the edges of his senses, the slow tickling phenomenon teasing his soul into responding to Crim’s enticing magic in a much too eager way.

Crim notices the spike in his magic almost instantly and is quick to arch his body upwards, letting the magic flesh of his thigh rub against Papyrus’ newly summoned parts. The sharp spike of pleasure shooting to his soul makes him lose the strength in his arms for a moment, his elbows suddenly feeling too weak to hold him up. An embarrassingly loud moan rips out of his throat and his face instantly heats up in response. Thoroughly mortified, Papyrus tries to hide his face against Crim’s chest, and it’s a more comfortable experience than he’d expected, thanks to the curve of magical padding stretched over Crim’s ribs. It doesn’t save him from the other’s soft laughter, however, and he feels the press of a kiss against the top of his skull.

His soul is struggling to manifest the ecto body usually needed for moments like these, but the magic can barely stretch around his hips before it thins to the point where his pelvis can be felt underneath it. He’s still so low on magic and he silently curses himself for it. The secret desires of his late night fantasies are truly, actually about to be realized and his magic can’t even summon more than the basics. He squeezes his sockets shut against Crim’s thin shirt as he tries to coax more out of his soul with a couple of hitched breaths.

“Darlin’,” Crim coos gently, nudging his face carefully against Papyrus’. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into the shoulder of his partner’s chest as he gives up, unable to meet Crim’s eyelights. “I can’t- I don’t have enough magic.”

“It’s okay.” The reassurance is backed with gentle fingers running over the back of his head and neck.

“No, it’s typical,” Papyrus says bitterly, utterly disappointed in himself. “Night of my dreams happens and I can’t even get it up.”

“You don’t have to do anything sweetheart,” Crim murmurs, trailing his thumb over the side of Papyrus’ face. “Sex is more than bashin’ magic. I don’t need the whole package to be satisfied with ya. Just need this gorgeous body of yours close and maybe another kiss.”

“I can still- I mean I have _some_ of it,” Papyrus hurries to say, pulling back from the comfortable warmth of Crim’s chest, not wanting him to think that they can’t continue. “It’s just the, you know… I can’t soften the edges for you.”

“You think I care about that?” Crim asks before he chuckles and cups Papyrus’ face in his hands, preventing him from looking away. “Babe, you could be nothing but bones and I would still devour you whole. I fucking love your body. With or without the sharp edges.” He emphasizes his words by dragging his hands down Papyrus’ back and to his pelvis. Skillful fingers start scraping along the joints through the fabric of his track pants, expertly inducing a few strong waves of pleasure that crash into Papyrus’ soul when the fingers prod the outer layers of magic around his opening. He feels the motion pause for a split-second as Crim takes a surprised breath.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Crim curses. “You really made a-”

“Yeah,” Papyrus interrupts, feeling another rush of pleasure steal his breath away when Crim continues to rub small, careful circles against his magic. “You- you could call it “my specialty” too, I guess.” Crim groans quietly, his eyes squeezing closed. Papyrus feels the cock pressed against his leg throb.

“You spent a lotta time on this, didn’t you? Fucking feels like it, _shit_.”

“Heh, yeah,” Papyrus admits. Little does Crim know, but he’d spent way too many hours of his teen years experimenting, shaping it to feel _just_ right. “Always, uh, thought it felt nicer than the alternatives.”

“I ain’t complaining, fuck no.” Crim grins and presses a quick kiss against Papyrus’ mouth. “You’re fuckin’ perfect. I can’t wait to get my hands all over you.” Papyrus stops him before he can kiss him again and shakes his head.

“Me first. You promised,” he reminds him insistently. Crim just laughs and relaxes against the pillows again.

“Okay okay, fine. You want it that much? Have at it then.”

He doesn’t need to be told again. His fingers have been itching to touch and he gets to work, quickly stripping Crim of the last few pieces of clothing. When he’s finished tossing a final sock off the side, his hands automatically gravitate back to the flesh around Crim’s upper thighs. His thumbs fit perfectly into the natural creases of the magic, and even squeezing a bit isn’t enough for him to really feel more than the curve of the bone beneath.

Questing fingers move further down, reverently tracing the soft, outer edges and beautiful, imperfect divots on his partner’s body. He can hear Crim giving voice to quiet huffs as those same fingers move back up, circling thighs, trailing up sides and brushing over a smooth chest until they come to rest on either side of Crim’s face.

He’s looking away again, head tilted off to one side, and the flush on his cheeks is at the brightest he’s seen yet.

“Hey,” Papyrus says, breaking the relative silence of the last few minutes. The other’s eyelights wander back to him, half-hidden under hooded eyesockets.

The lazy, questioning rumble he gets in return makes him smile, and he bends down for another kiss. When they pull apart, he hovers his face just over Crim’s for another second.

“You are _gorgeous_ ,” he breathes, sincerity seeping from his words.

Hands fist in either side of Papyrus’ tank top, drawing him down for another unexpected kiss. “If you keep that shit up,” Crim warns him, cheeks still burning over a decidedly affectionate smile, “you’re gonna lose your shot at the prize.”

“Can’t have that,” he responds. He dips lower, slowly crawling his way down Crim’s body. He can’t stop himself from brushing his teeth over the surface of Crim’s magic, teasing his collarbones with small nips and bites. Crim startles at first, but soon sinks deeper into the bed with a deep sigh. His hands find their way to Papyrus’ shoulders and neck, his fingers digging in. His hold is strong and impatient, pushing Papyrus downwards.

Papyrus digs his teeth into the flesh over Crim’s ribs, giving him a firm bite. Crim starts and moans, his fingers clenching around Papyrus’ shoulders. “Be patient,” Papyrus hums before licking over the bite mark he left behind.

“Fuck, do that again,” Crim says in a rush. His body squirms, hips shifting and lifting from the bed, trying to grind against Papyrus’. Papyrus does as told, moving a bit further down before sinking his teeth into Crim’s fleshy hips. He gets a face full of dick for his efforts. He lets go of Crim with a small chuckle and instead nuzzles a thigh with his face. A few kisses and nibbles make Crim pant and curse.

His magic softens his mouth when he opens it to claim his “prize”. He starts with a long, firm lick from the base of the cock to the tip, slowly letting it sink deeper and deeper into his mouth after that. Crim sucks in a breath and he stills suddenly. His fingers scratch Papyrus’ skull as Papyrus slowly circles the tip with his tongue before swallowing his entire cock in one long slide.

“Shit- fuck, you’re so good at that,” Crim pants. His legs tremble. “How are you so good at that?” Papyrus answers with a moan when Crim’s cock stabs the back of his throat, scraping against the bones of his neck that are only protected by a thin layer of magic. The rough texture of his neck rubbing against Crim’s cock causes the other to cry out, fingers tightening again.

For a long moment, Papyrus holds Crim still. He can feel him shaking, suppressing the desire to move. When he finally pulls back again to breathe it results in another loud sound ripping from Crim’s throat, only the first of many.

Papyrus deliberately teases him to hear more of those noises, changing between an agonizingly slow pace and a faster one. Every time Crim shows signs of being close, Papyrus pulls back and starts covering every surface within reach with small nibbles and kisses, each time waiting until Crim’s hips are able to still before he continues.

There’s a never ending stream of curses and praise tumbling out of Crim’s mouth. Every sound, every single one lights a warmth in Papyrus’ soul. He feels _powerful_ and _wanted_ , _needed_ and it’s intoxicating. The emotions fill him up, making his soul feel like it’s about to burst. He gets eager, his treatment of Crim more concentrated.

Soon, his partner can’t take it anymore. He pats the top of Papyrus head insistently. “H-hey, w-wait,” he says. “I’m gonna blow in seconds if you don’t gimme a break.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Papyrus asks. The desire to continue is strong and he’s so close to bending back down when Crim sits up and pushes him further back.

“I got a lot more planned for you darlin’,” Crim purrs as he changes their places effortlessly, shifting himself out and around Papyrus until he’s sitting over him, legs spread over his hips and hands sinking into the pillows under Papyrus’ head. “Now it’s my turn,” he says in a low, cocky rumble. Crim kisses him, steals whatever nervous energy had started to pool in Papyrus’ soul and removes it with expert precision.

“Hold on to somethin’,” Crim tells him with a grin. Unlike Papyrus, Crim wastes no time in getting to his prize. His tongue sends a shock wave through Papyrus’ body when it digs in between the soft lips of his pussy, making him cry out. His upper body lifts from the pillows, but Crim pushes him down harshly and drags his tongue upwards. Their fingers weave together and Papyrus clenches his hand tightly, grounding himself with the feeling of Crim squeezing his hand back.

It doesn’t help him much when Crim digs his tongue further in and starts rubbing against his opening in small, quick jerks. It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before Papyrus has to stop him.

“Oh fuck, Crim, _Crim please_ ,” Papyrus begs without knowing why. He feels his legs shake.

“Ah, you taste amazing darlin’,” Crim hums. The vibration of his voice rumbles through Papyrus’ magic flesh. Papyrus sucks in a grateful breath when Crim moves up to kiss him again, giving him a small, very much needed break to get himself back under control again. The way Crim licks his teeth combined with the satisfied grin on his face almost makes Papyrus come untouched though.

“You ready for the next step?” he asks as he presses more kisses all over Papyrus’ cheek.

“Ye-yeah.”

Crim smiles at his answer, seeing right through the brave face Papyrus is trying to hold up. “There’s no rush babe,” he mumbles. “It’s all about feeling good. If you’re not ready, we’ll wait until you are.” He kisses Papyrus between the eyes, making him blush darkly and glance away. He can’t believe Crim saw through him so easily.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself before he looks back up at his lover. “I’m ready,” Papyrus says with confidence. He _is_ ready. He’s just so nervous for some reason.

When Papyrus feels the hot warmth of Crim’s cock come to rest against his own sex, he tenses slightly, suddenly feeling a lot less brave.

“Darlin’,” Crim calls softly. He nudges Papyrus’ chin with his teeth and ignores the fingertips digging into his arms. “Look at me, gorgeous. I’m not gonna move until you’re ready. In fact…” He lifts himself away and rolls over. Once again he changes their positions, letting Papyrus sit on his lap. A whine of disappointment sneaks out of Papyrus when the heat of Crim’s cock slides away. It soon returns though, making Papyrus whimper at the feeling. It’s so _hot_ , so easy to feel how eager Crim’s magic is.

“There,” Crim announces proudly. “Now you decide how fast we go.” Papyrus is endlessly grateful to have control. Now he can decide the pace and it helps calm his anxiousness a bit.

“This- ah!” Crim shifts underneath him, forcing his cock to slide forward a bit. The tip stabs against his opening shortly before it slides past it, the feeling sending a roar of _want_ crashing through Papyrus’ soul. He can’t stop himself from tilting forward a bit, just to feel that slide against his sensitive, wet magic again. It elicits a shaky gasp from Crim.

“Yeah, that’s it sweetheart, keep movin' like that. You feel fucking incredible. You're doing so good." Papyrus cheeks heat up, the words fueling the fire inside him. He grinds harder against Crim just to hear that stuttering exhale again, feeling himself shake as his own arousal rises rapidly. Crim’s hands close around his hips and guides the next grind, making it harder, deeper. Papyrus feels wetness gush out of him in response, a clear sign that his body is preparing itself for the main event. Their grinds get easier with the added slick and it almost feels like they melt together in their movements.

The next time the tip pokes against his opening, he doesn’t startle. Instead, he moans loudly, his head dropping to Crim’s chest. It’s slowly pushed further and further into him with each grind, stretching him. Every push meets new sensitive spots inside him, places he never managed to find himself when he experimented as a teenager. It’s driving him insane, overloading his soul with an energy he doesn’t know how to handle.

Papyrus wiggles his hips from side to side a small bit, trying to get Crim deeper, faster. Crim trembles at the feeling and his hips snap up in an unconscious reaction, bottoming out in a second. It startles Papyrus and he gasps loudly, his body freezing.

He loves the feeling of having Crim so deep inside him instantly, but it’s an overwhelming one. He can feel their magic blend, sparking at every point of contact between them. It clouds his mind, makes it difficult to focus on their physical joining when their magical one bursts to life in his mind.

“Sh-shit, sorry,” Crim stammers, words forced out between clenched teeth. Papyrus feels hands grab his hips, holding him steady. His sockets are shut tight, making him unable to see what expression goes with the tensed tone of Crim’s voice. “ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, his hips having trouble staying still.

“I’m okay,” Papyrus says hurriedly, hoping to banish any worries his lover might have. The words leave him in between rattling breaths and he’s just trying to stay upright as pleasure overwhelms him.

It’s a strange feeling, a big one. The physical connection is almost mind blowing, overloading his soul with desire so intense it feels like it might consume him. But it’s the mental connection that makes Papyrus quiver and gasp for air. He can _feel_ Crim in his soul, in his mind. It’s like an echo of Papyrus’ own emotions being played back at him. He knew that their magic would be tainted by each other after having sex, but he never imagined it came with a feeling like this.

“Crim,” he whimpers, feeling himself panic. It’s too much at once and he’s losing focus.

His partner is fast to capture his face in his hands and he leans up to let their foreheads touch. “I’m right here, Slick,” he says, voice trembling. “I got you, babe. You’re doing so good.”

“I-I can’t-.” The moan that cuts off his sentence gets muffled against Crim’s mouth as the other kisses him deeply. The kiss lasts for only a few seconds, but still leaves him breathless. “I-I’m losing it,” he admits, already feeling the pinch of exhaustion creep into his soul. He’s using too much magic too fast, but he doesn’t want to stop. He wants to finish, wants this first time together to be a memory he’ll think of fondly and not with disappointment because he failed to keep himself together.

“You wanna stop?” Crim asks him, but even before he’s done, Papyrus is shaking his head. “Are you hurting?”

“No,” Papyrus reassures him, “it’s just… so much. Too much.” He’s not making much sense, can’t find the words he needs to explain himself like he wants to. Even as he says it, he can’t stop his hips from moving in a slow circular grind, shifting the weight of Crim’s cock inside him, making it press up against all the right spots.

“Kiss me.” The words are followed by warmth, Crim’s magic mixing with his own. A tongue slides in between his teeth and for a moment Papyrus’ senses lose contact with the surrounding world, his mind lost in feeling their tongues sliding against each other in a deep, wet kiss.

Crim sits up, pushes Papyrus with him. He goes willingly, lets Crim tilt him back until he’s nestled in soft blankets and supported by pillows. Crim never stops kissing him and he continues to move against Papyrus, pulling his hips back just a few inches before pushing them forward again, making his cock move into him in a delicious slow slide. There’s a pressure building in his soul, pushing against his ribs. Papyrus’ hands scramble for a hold, and Crim captures them, weaving their fingers together. His thrusts gets harder and he pushes himself deeper, lingering for a few moments before pulling back.

“Crim,” Papyrus gasps.” _Fuck_ , Crim, Crim…” A continuous stream of his lover’s name tumbles out of his mouth, becoming more and more desperate.

“That’s it sweetheart,” Crim purrs. He releases Papyrus’ hands so he can guide his legs up around his hips. One of Crim’s hands wraps around Papyrus’ neck while the other grabs at his hip, helping Papyrus move against him. “Move your hips,” he says. “Make yourself feel good. Show me.” Papyrus does as told. He snaps his hips up and soon Crim follows his guidance, fucking him hard and deep with a small growl.

They breathe into each other’s mouths, too breathless to kiss but unwilling to pull away. Soon it becomes too much and he feels the pressure in his soul snap as he comes.

He knows what is happening, having tried it many times before on his own, but he doesn't remember it feeling like the ground is cracking open under him and sending him spiralling into an endless drop. For several long moments his mind is dark, mouth open and body tensed. When his body finally relaxes and he remembers how to open his eyes, Crim is still above him, his hips coming to a sudden stop as he chokes on a curse.

Heavy breaths fill the silence between them. Their magic is slowly pulling back, dissolving and disconnecting them. Papyrus finds himself missing the feeling as soon as Crim’s presence disappears from his mind. All there’s left is a warmth in his soul, a tiny piece of Crim tainting his magic in a wonderful way.

When he looks up he finds Crim watching him with awe written all over his face. His words fail him at that moment, and all Papyrus can do is lean up for another kiss. Crim meets him happily, sinking into the feeling of their souls touching with a small, content sigh. It’s much softer, unhurried, and they cherish the moment, hands gently caressing each other, Crim carefully cupping his face. The tenderness in that action makes his soul feel like might burst out of his chest.

“You are so beautiful,” Crim mumbles against his face when they part. He rolls them over on their sides so they can be more comfortable and Papyrus happily snuggles closer to Crim’s chest when the other opens his arms.

“Mmh,” he hums, feeling happier than he ever remembers being before. “You too.” Papyrus’ whole body is tingling. His soul feels so light. Never in a million years had he imagined this would be how his night would end. He has been harboring this ridiculous crush for months and he never planned on acting on it. Never thought about telling Crim or ending up becoming anything but friends. In the dark hours of the night he would fantasize, sure, and imagine what it would be like to fall asleep next to him and be woken up with soft kisses and cuddles. Papyrus would look at Crim while he was doing something and imagine how he would react if he just went over there and sat down next to him, or pulled him into a hug like Papyrus had longed to do for so long.

And look at him now. He just had _sex_ with the guy he has been in love with for Stars know how long and it was more perfect than anything he could have imagined. Crim isn’t the ruthless, rough lover he thought he would be. Papyrus is blown away by the tenderness in his touches and the patience in his voice. Even now, the small, soft caresses of Crim’s thumb on his shoulder feel _so good_ and Papyrus just wants to sink into this feeling of contentment and forget that tomorrow will come eventually.

The thought of tomorrow scares him more than he’s willing to admit. It’s been so long since he felt happy and he has spent so long imagining how this would feel. Now that he’s here, that it has happened and he is finally in Crim’s arms… He’s kind of terrified. He doesn’t know what Crim thinks of all this or if he understood Papyrus’ confession earlier. Had he been too vague? Crim never responded to it. Maybe… Maybe he doesn’t want more than this.

All of a sudden a chill pierces Papyrus’ soul and he feels the paralyzing stab of doubt. For a few seconds he feels like he can’t breathe, like his chest is too tight. Crim notices right away. His soft caresses stop and his embrace tightens.

“Hey,” Crim mumbles softly. Papyrus feels Crim’s cheek lean against the top of his head and he grounds himself in the press of Crim’s body and the warmth radiating from him. “You doing ok, Slick?”

“Mhm.” He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what words to use to describe the sense of dread ensnaring his soul. Crim doesn’t seem to be fooled by his attempt to sound unaffected, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he senses that Papyrus needs time to think.

He doesn’t want to just outright ask, but what else can he do? He doesn’t want to risk being too vague, but asking directly frightens him. The possibility of rejection is almost enough to keep him from asking.

But he has to know, otherwise he’ll be stuck with this horrible feeling.

“Uhm, so…” Papyrus says slowly, soul hammering in his chest.

“So,” Crim responds. Papyrus can’t find the words to describe the ball of raw emotion in his chest. At his continued silence, Crim sighs softly. “We’re really gonna have the awkward ‘so that happened’ talk now, huh?” he says. He suddenly sounds tired and Papyrus feels his hope drop.

“I just… I...” When his words fail him again, Crim pulls him closer.

“We don’t have to put a label on it now,” he says. “It is what it is.”

“I kinda want to,” Papyrus finally admits. “I’m… I’m not… I was trying to say earlier that-”

“I know,” Crim interrupts him.

“Yeah?” Papyrus asks. When Crim nods but doesn’t say anything, the ball of dread tightens.

Crim shifts underneath him and Papyrus takes the opportunity to sit up, feeling the need to put a bit of distance between them. Every point of contact between their bodies seem to buzz with electricity and Papyrus feels a bit dizzy.

“Hey, come on, Slick,” Crim says. Papyrus feels him sit up too, feels his body press closer to his again. “Whatever’s going on inside that head of yours, you don’t have to pull away from me like this. You know that right? I ain’t scared of whatever crazy you got. You can talk to me.”

“I’m in love with you,” Papyrus blurts, feeling like he’s choking on his own tongue. One of Crim’s hands cup Papyrus’ cheek and he turns his head so their eyes meet.

“I know,” he mumbles quietly.

Papyrus is stunned by the expression on Crim’s face. The half-lidded eyes and soft gaze captivates him and makes the subtle smile seem even brighter on his face. Crim is happy in a way Papyrus hasn’t seen him be before. He’s taken aback at how beautiful Crim is once again.

“I know darlin’,” Crim repeats. “You’re...” His smile drops a bit as his expression darkens slightly. “You’re still okay with what happened, right?”

“Yeah,” Papyrus answers instantly. “It’s not that.”

“Then what’s up? What got you this spooked?”

Papyrus has to look away. It’s difficult being looked at this closely and he feels exposed and vulnerable in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. He doesn’t just feel physically naked, but emotionally too. Crim has his soul in a tight grip and he doesn’t even know how easily he could crush it right now - metaphorically speaking of course. Although, Papyrus is sure it would feel exactly the same if Crim ends up rejecting him after all this.

“It’s silly,” he says.

“I doubt that,” Crim is quick to counter. “Sure, maybe it sounds silly inside your head, but I’m also sure it’s really not as soon as you tell me what’s up.”

Papyrus takes a deep breath and holds it for a few seconds before letting it go. “I just had to mess with my own head,” he explains. “I thought like… what if you don’t actually like me back? What if this only happens once and tomorrow everything will be back to normal again. I was worried that maybe I wasn’t clear enough. That maybe you didn’t understand that for me this wasn’t just a one night thing.” Papyrus glances at Crim again.

Crim has his usual mask up, making it almost impossible for Papyrus to read him. “I would ask you out on a date, but uh… We kinda already skipped the first ten steps of dating,” Papyrus says when Crim stays quiet, hoping a hint of humor will lighten the mood. His laugh isn’t convincing at all.

“You’re not gonna take me to Muffet’s, right?” Crim asks, a sudden grin cracking his unreadable mask. Papyrus doesn’t really understand at first and doesn’t do anything but stare at the other. Crim takes his silence as an opportunity to lean his chin against Papyrus’ shoulder and wrap his arms around his waist. “I mean, a first date gotta be special. You have to woo me real good. I’m not an easy guy to impress.”

“What?”

“I’m just saying, Muffet’s is good and all, but it ain’t really special, you know? We go there every day,” Crim continues.

And suddenly it’s like lightning strikes him. He feels his own face split in a huge smile, his soul roaring, completely overwhelmed with emotion. Crim just chuckles as he lets Papyrus drag him into a kiss.

“I promise to woo the pants off you,” he says when they part.

“I would say I don’t have sex on the first date, but…” Crim winks and pulls him back down.

They get comfortable again, Papyrus lying in the crook of Crim’s arm. He’s happy he told him, so so happy, but even though telling him the truth has eased his fear, there’s still something bugging him. So, before they get _too_ comfortable, Papyrus pulls away again to let their eyes meet.

“I want you to Judge me,” Papyrus says, the words rushing out of him before he loses his nerve. He feels Crim tense up, and he hurries to explain, fearing the potential, instant rejection. “I just want you to know who you’re saying yes to. I want to make sure you know the real me.” He pauses, turning somber. “I have a lot of bad in me and it’s not going to be easy to live with.”

It’s a risky game he’s playing. Papyrus knows he could very well lose all this in a few seconds, but he can’t stand the thought of Crim waking up someday and finding out that he can’t handle Papyrus. It’s not something Papyrus wants to keep hidden and not something he can just hide away. He knows that, eventually, those dark shadows will show their faces and he wants Crim to be prepared for that if he really decides he want to do this.

“You sure you want that darlin’? Ain’t no taking that back. Once I do it, it’s done,” Crim says slowly.

“I’m scared,” Papyrus admits. “It’s been an incredible night and the last thing I want to do is ruin the mood, but…” He can’t find the right words to explain.

“But you wanna make sure I know what I’m in for,” Crim offers. Papyrus nods.

“When I fall in love… It’s just really hard to fall out of it again.” They fall into silence. He doesn’t want to pressure Crim into it, wants to be patient and let the other decide for himself, but it’s so hard to not let the anxiety in his chest overwhelm him.

“Okay,” Crim finally says. “I don’t need to know, but if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll do it. And… It’s only fair I let you do it too.”

“You don’t have to!” Papyrus says quickly. “I wasn’t fishing for that.”

“I know sweetheart,” Crim tells him, giving him a soft smile. He kisses Papyrus slowly, a hand gently resting under Papyrus’ chin, keeping their mouths pressed close together.

He lets the feeling linger between them for a few moments. It’s full of raw emotion, showing a vulnerability Papyrus haven’t seen in Crim before.

“But I want you to know too,” Crim says. “You’re not the only one battling demons you’re afraid of. Stars know I got some ugly sides to me too, sides that’ll probably scare the crap out of you when you get to see them.”

“We can be ugly together then,” Papyrus says.

“Heh, yeah. I like the sound of that.”

They both hesitate, unsure of how to proceed. Papyrus knows how big of a deal this is to Crim, can see it in how much he’s struggling with himself right now. Papyrus doesn’t want to startle him by just doing it, so instead he decides to take the lead.

“Go for it,” he tells him softly. Crim’s eyelights flick down to look at Papyrus’ chest before finding his eyes again.

“You sure about this?” Crim asks again. Papyrus nods.

“Yeah. I want you to know.”

It takes a couple of minutes of quiet before it happens. He feels the magic as a cool surge prodding at his soul at first. It’s almost like it caresses him, trying to calm him down before he dips inside. He hears Crim gasp even before Papyrus feels the reading appear in his mind.

On the surface, it’s the same feeling as it always is. His loss of hope is like a noose around his neck, his self hatred and hopelessness as dark clouds hovering around his soul, easy to read. He’s restless and frustrated, unable to find a way out of the darkness. Terrifying and forbidding, he sports a choking shame that draws a sticky darkness over everything else he does, discoloring and fading all it touches.

Like a humid fog wardening over his soul, it’s something he’d originally cultivated to block out everything that could hurt him, and eventually it had ended up consuming him to the point of listlessness. Over time, that shame had grown into loneliness and despair until he finally fell into the acceptance that he would never amount to anything beyond a burden; worse than useless to people he knew in a small world that kept getting smaller. At some point later, he’d accepted that it wasn’t going to get better; that he was stuck in this abyss forever, doomed to drift, to wander alone in a joyless, pointless existence.

Heartache, guilt and bitterness all swirl below the surface, attached to the faces of people he used to know; the same people who are now dead or gone from his life so they wouldn’t have to suffer with him. He’d kept telling himself it was better this way until he’d believed it, so he wouldn’t be a burden to them as well as his own brother.

Sans… oh Sans. He can feel Crim circling around that feeling, the strength of it pulling at his attention.

The surface of it brimming with compassion and tenderness. For the longest time, he’d thought he would never be able to feel anything again beyond a persistent love for his brother. Sans is a category all his own: A hero with his easy smiles and boundless compassion for others, eternal willingness to help and endlessly patient. It’s hard for him to remember a time when Sans wasn’t the last beacon of light for him in the endless dark.

As Crim follows the trail leading downward, guilt and terror lurk like a frigid shadow behind the prior warmth. All at once he can’t stand that he loves Sans, knowing - Stars does he know - that his mere existence drags him into the dirt along with him, but he’s also terrified of losing his last lifeline. He’s not nearly as blind to his brother’s sacrifices as he used to be, and the shackles of his shame are still rubbing him raw where they hang: Too cowardly to live, too selfish to die. It’s a tortured thing, this love, but it comprises the bedrock of the embankment built to keep his despondency barely at bay.

And he wants to to despair, because he believes that’s all he is, there’s nothing remaining of his soul but for this.

But as Crim pushes past and delves deeper, it turns out that he’s wrong. A new feeling blooms near the core of his being, sheltered away from the grey, discolored edges. It’s warmer, hesitant and fleeting like the beating of a small heart, but it’s there. Papyrus doesn’t recognize the little flame, doesn’t understand the way it gravitates towards Crim’s magic, but that doesn’t matter. Just the fact that it’s there makes him feel so much better; that there’s still something bright and burning in him - however small - gives him hope. It gives him courage, helps him cling to the desperate daydream that maybe - just maybe - he isn’t completely broken.

The second the magic releases his soul, Crim crushes him in a tight hug. It’s not a hug of pity or sadness, but rather one of compassion: In his own way, Crim is telling him he will never be alone again and Papyrus can’t put into words how much that means. So, he hugs him back, the small flutter of kisses he leaves behind on the other’s shoulder and cheek his attempt at saying thank you. Thank you for not pitying him, for not saying anything - for simply just being there in a situation that would have been much harder to tolerate otherwise.

They kiss. It’s not without heat, but it lacks the urgentness of their previous kisses. It’s a slow exploration, a state of simply being and Papyrus finds himself falling into the addictive feeling of Crim’s soul buzzing away inches from his own. When they part, there’s no words. They don’t need them. Instead, Crim simply just nods and closes his eyes, allowing Papyrus access to what he has been hiding so fiercely all this time.

He goes slow. Like Crim, he lets his magic caress the soul it meets instead of barging in, hoping it can lessen some of Crim’s anxiety. He can’t feel if it does, not yet - his body seems to disappear as his magic guides him through the Read.

There’s despair - young and yet old at the same time. Like a maiden trapped in an elder’s body, the despair thrashes and screams with white-hot fury, wanting release. But it’s being held captive by chains heavy and thick, layers of orange rust covering the once spotless links. Papyrus gets the feeling of a deep hurt lingering here, something way beyond the sores of the constant rubbing of metal against bone. It bleeds rivers and shouts curses, but no one hears it because it’s hidden behind endless walls. Thousands of them stand, one door only leading to the next.

The doors lead to other rooms as well. There’s a tiny boy, sequestered in the corner of one, blind and deaf to the world in a way only a toddler can be. He plays with his toys, seemingly uninterested in what goes on beyond his room, but Papyrus is not deceived - he sees the looks the boy casts the door, desperate and wanting. Papyrus knows not what stories he acts out, but act, he does. A web of intricate lies and deceit is spun from his fingertips so cleverly that it seems the boy himself can’t figure out where one strand begins and the other ends.

In another room he finds himself above a vast, roiling ocean of blood-red marrow amidst a chaotic storm. Dark and deep it flows, with vicious, tearing currents and a piercing chill born of a howling wind. Far above, seen as flashes of fury, fingers of lightning tear at a black sky, illuminating heavy waves crashing against the walls. Lightning pierces the surface and a clap of thunder sounds, deafening as it strikes, spearing into the waters momentarily in a twisting fork of light and letting him see all the way to the bottom. Hidden within the swirling depths, there are fleeting shadows: flashes of shapes, sharp movements. Deeper in are images of terrible violence, of outright savagery. Papyrus senses the _anger_ in the wild waves as they beat upon each other in the blinding, jagged light, the _restlessness_ and _rage_ coursing through every drop below. The fury of its roaring and churning steals his breath and his courage, makes him feel like he’s drowning in it. The powerful tide pummels the sides of the room, threatening to break the walls with its viciousness and consume everything. However, the walls are steadfast against the attacks, strong and untouchable, like they were forged of obsidian.

Slick leaves quickly again, unprepared to search deeper into the emotions of the room.

In the end of the labyrinth of walls are desires, dreams and wishes. All neatly placed in rows, pictures of ‘maybes’ and ‘could bes’ line the room in different frames. Some are old and tarnished, discarded but not forgotten behind others shining and new. He sees his own face, only distorted, _different_ . Young, old, his age now, doing so many things. He sees monsters he doesn’t know, and others he does, but that he barely recognizes. He sees himself - _him_ , not that odd, sharper mirror image - sitting on the stump in the woods and he’s _smiling_. Not just a smile like any other, no - it looks like the sun is projecting out of his face, like the secret of life has just been revealed to him and all of his sorrows have been lifted.

He has no idea why Crim sees him that way, but the frames following the first clearly paint a picture. There they both are, in heavy embraces and sharing soft moments. Crim is different, smiling, _happy_. He welcomes touch and loves without effort.

At the end of the rows stands one single rose, thorns large but leaves as red as blood, beautiful in its intensity. It’s barely blooming, the waxy leaves still held close together in a protective embrace, like they’re guarding a secret. As he closes the distance, the rose unfolds, delicate drops of water rolling down the leaves and stalk, and dripping onto the ground like tears. Inside lays a single piece of paper and he takes it. He knows what this is, has seen it presented many times before but yet always in similar ways.

It’s Crim’s Soul Read. The paper is thin, old and has wrinkles covering it, like it’s been crumpled and unfolded countless times. The script is delicate and unbearably familiar. He would recognize his mother's handwriting anywhere, even in another's soul.

_He just wants to matter._ A truth so simple and yet strong enough to break a person to pieces. Papyrus understand why Crim has kept it close to him with such fierceness as he has. A secret like this could so easily be manipulated and used.

He pulls his magic out much the same way as he went in: Slow and with care. Crim is curled against him, hands tightened into fists like he’s been in great pain, but the small, soft breaths against his chest tells Papyrus that it’s not pain, but him being overwhelmed. It’s not unusual - Papyrus’ gift is quite strong - but Crim has not experienced the sensations of a Judgement multiple times like Papyrus has these past many years. He hasn’t build up a tolerance to it. If anything, him crying against Papyrus’ chest is a sign of health, of normality. Crim is going to be perfectly fine after a while.

He doesn’t say anything, just like Crim didn’t. He knows this is a big step, one that Crim might not even be okay with - _yet_ . Papyrus is sure he would never had allowed him to do it if he didn’t want him to, but he’s also sure that Crim would never have been _ready_ for it. How could he? He has spent so much time hiding himself away, like the little boy in the corner, that he has trouble finding himself sometimes too.

So instead Papyrus hugs him, without any words or any demands. Just a hug, because that’s all they need. As long as they hold each other up, they will be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hey on Tumblr and get exclusive extra content for this fic!  
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~


	20. Where We Stand

## ~ Chapter Twenty ~  
Where We Stand

  

_“God damn right, you should be scared of me.”_

[_"Control"_ by Halsey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jGALaVgwdc0)

* * *

The pale early morning light glows through the curtains, casting a screen of soft grey shadows over the two dozing forms on the bed not far away. It feels brighter than it actually is to Crim, and he silently curses the small throb of a headache he feels coming to life, his punishment for the drinks he had yesterday. Memories of the night before manage to battle for his attention though, and a smile still takes its place on his face, drowning his building hangover in feelings of comfort and contentment.

Crim is not ready to admit defeat yet, still clinging to whatever scraps of sleep he can salvage. His bedmate - who’s currently pressed against his back -  has other plans, though. He is in the middle of gingerly coaxing him back to wakefulness by spreading gentle kisses all over the back of his head and shoulders. Large, warm hands stroke patterns over his naked body, following the lines of his full forms all the way down to his hips and thighs. He feels them grab the curve of his hips and uses the leverage to pull him closer to the warm body wrapped around him. Long legs tighten around his and the hands wander back up to his belly, fingers splaying over the surface and digging into the magic gently. He feels them make tiny squeezing movements and his mouth tilts upwards. It’s fucking adorable how much Slick loves the way his body looks now. It kind of makes him never want to get rid of the stored magic again.

“Are you awake?” comes a soft whisper, tickling the side of Crim’s face. His smile falls as he tries to feign sleep. 

“No,” he mumbles. Slick snakes his arms fully around Crim’s upper chest and hugs him close, his chin coming to rest over Crim’s shoulder. 

“Liar,” Slick responds in a whisper. When all Crim can do is sigh in defeat, he can  _ feel _ Slick’s smile grow as his lover nuzzles closer.

Crim twists around so their chests press together, souls humming just inches away from each other. He buries his face in Slick’s neck, trying to escape the real world for just another minute. The other’s hands come to rest at the small of his back and the back of his head, just gently holding him close. For a while, they just lie together, trading sleepy kisses and soft caresses. Crim explores Slick’s curved spine, following the vertebrae all they way down to his hips. His fingers map out all the surfaces of the other’s bones, his curiosity not fueled by lust, but rather a desire to learn everything there is to know about every nook and cranny of his lover’s body.

Long, contented breaths leave Slick as he enjoys Crim’s exploring. Crim finds a sore spot on the lower half of Slick’s back and he rubs it carefully, trying to relieve the ache. He’s rewarded with a deep, slow kiss that makes his toes curl in delight. 

“Last night was amazing,” Slick tells him when they part.

“Fuck yeah,” Crim agrees, unable to keep his voice calm and quiet like Slick. “Can’t believe it actually happened. You sure it wasn’t just some crazy dream?” Slick grins in response, shaking his head fondly.

“Want me to pinch you?”

“Only if you make it dirty,” Crim says, not missing a beat. He digs his fingers in between Slick’s ribs and strokes the sensitive joints near his spine. Slick groans and leans his head back, his eyelights flickering.

“Mmh… I would love to, gorgeous, but I have to get up. Duty calls.” He says it regretfully, like he hates every word and what they mean.

“Take the day off,” Crim tells him. He lets his tongue twirl over the smooth surfaces of Slick’s clavicles and up over his neck. Slick’s arms tighten around Crim’s body, but they let go seconds later.

“I can’t,” he sighs. “Alphys might actually hit me if I do.” He gently pushes Crim away, stopping his attempt at riling him up. 

“Aw man,” Crim sulks, rolling over on his back.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Slick promises. “Tonight. I got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Mmh, you better.”

* * *

Later that day finds Crim in the kitchen, smile on his face and hands submerged in hot, soapy water. 

Blue comes into the kitchen with a tired sigh. He throws a file heavy with papers on the table before he goes for the apron hanging from the oven handle. It’s first when his fingers touch the fabric that he notices the steaming pots on the stove. 

“Oh…” Blue says. “You made lunch.”

“Started dinner too,” Crim says, gesturing to the bowl with dough slowly rising under a wet dish towel. When Blue glances at him, he shrugs. He decided earlier that getting on Blue’s good side is in his best interest, since he’s now dating his bro. Better late than never, right? “I had the day off and figured it wouldn’t hurt to help a bit. You seemed beat after your tournament yesterday.” 

“That’s very…  _ thoughtful _ of you,” Blue responds. He forgoes the apron and slides up next to Crim instead, removing his gloves before shooing Crim out of the way. Crim lets him take over the washing duty simply because he doesn’t feel like ruining his good mood by arguing with the guy. He grabs a dry dish towel instead and starts drying off the plates he had been stacking on the drying rack.

For almost five minutes, neither of them speak or look at each other. It’s a tense silence, and also the longest time Crim has spent this close to Blue since his very first day in their universe. The whirlwind of energy he met that day now feels closer to a barely contained atomic bomb. He can feel the power of intense anger wafting off of Blue, but he can’t figure out what pissed the guy off this time. It can’t be Crim, because he’s been trying his damndest to do everything exactly the way Blue wants it to be done all day. He even cleaned the cups with the sponge and not the brush despite not getting the point of why that’s so damn important.

But Blue glares at the stack of clean, dry cups too and Crim reconsiders that he might have fucked up some way despite his best efforts. It wouldn’t be surprising, since the guy’s insane OCD can battle even Crim’s brother’s. But if he wants to be angry over a few cups, Crim doesn’t care. He tried and that has to be enough. At least he knows Slick will appreciate his efforts, even if Blue won’t.

Crim catches Blue looking at the clock on the wall for the tenth time and finally wonders what he’s waiting for. Although, after the eleventh time he decides he doesn’t really want to know and instead he sinks back into the daydreams that has been playing in his mind all day.

“So, what did you do to him?” Blue suddenly asks a few minutes later, not looking up from the soapy water and the pan he’s viciously scrubbing with a sponge.

“Hm?” he hums, not really paying attention. His thoughts are still stuck on the memories of yesterday, his mouth curled into the same smile he woke with. So much of yesterday just felt so  _ right _ , from singing the stupid songs at Muffet’s and hearing people catcall when he winked at Slick during one of the more suggestive ones, to the look on Slick’s face when he came undone, trembling and crying out under Crim. It feels like a dream, one big fever dream when he’s thinking back on it, but then he moves in some way and that bite mark on his hip stings a bit, reminding him that it was very much real. 

Crim notices that Blue turns and stares at him, like he’s expecting an answer to whatever he just said. It’s only reluctantly that Crim pulls himself from his memory of Slick’s teeth nibbling at his neck and turns his attention to Blue. “What?” Crim asks. 

“I know you f-fucked my brother,” Blue says with a forced calmness. His voice trembles, hands clenched and his eyelights are bigger than ever, practically pulsating with overloaded magic. “I want to know what you did to him.” 

“What?!” Crim exclaims. “What the hell-”

“Cut the c-crap! I know! I _heard_ you. You didn’t expect me to be home from the tournament so soon, but I _was_ ,” Blue interrupts. He laughs, but there’s nothing humorous about the sound leaving him. It’s way too dark for the little skeleton and it leave a eerie coolness in the air between them. “You didn’t even bother to check my room.” He shakes his head. “So don’t even try to lie to me. I heard _every_ _single second_ of your little _adventure_ last night.” He turns back and starts scrubbing the pan again, like this conversation isn’t about explode in his face any second. 

“What, are you _ jealous _ ?” Crim snorts. So, the little guy heard them? So what? Yeah, okay, it’s fucking creepy. Why didn’t he just  _ leave _ ? Crim’s own brother - despite being the opinionated douchebag he is about Crim’s relationships - never stuck around when Crim occasionally dragged someone home. Crim can’t even count on his hands and feet how many times he’d spent all night at Grillby’s with Doggo and the crew before crashing at the inn because Papyrus had his own “adventures” with a certain rabbit monster. 

“ _ He’s my brother _ ,” Blue screeches, horrified, as he immediately drops the plate he’d been washing, splashing water on both of them. “Why would I be jealous?! That is so  _ wrong!” _ Crim just shrugs. Beats him. He don’t even know why he asked. Maybe just to be a cheeky fucker? Maybe because lying is too much effort. Besides, what does he care? Last night was one of the best nights of his life. He shouldn’t have to lie about that. He shouldn’t have to treat it like he’d stolen Slick’s virtue or something like that - despite the fact that he actually kinda  _ did _ steal it. 

That thought just makes his smile widen. 

“What did you do to him to make him sleep with you?” Blue asks slowly, deliberately putting pressure on every word. “I know you did  _ something _ . He wouldn’t just- he’s never-” 

“Wow, hang on a bit there, champ. What are you talking about?” Crim asks, now genuinely confused. “I didn’t do anythin’ to him. He  _ asked _ for it.” 

“Don’t lie to me!” Blue demands. “I swear, if you did  _ anything _ to my brother just so you could have your way with him, I’ll make you  _ regret it _ .” Okay, that’s it. He’s not going to listen to this shit any longer. 

“You know what? This shit-” 

“No cursing!” Blue interrupts, as if he feels like that’s important to remind him of  _ now _ of all times, conveniently forgetting he himself cursed not even two minutes ago. 

“This  _ SHIT _ is  _ FUCKING _ getting out of hand,” Crim finishes loudly. He’s  _ done _ , so fucking done with this guy’s hypocritical bullshit. He’s done with the not-so-subtle threats and hateful remarks, with the constant bickering and the glares burning into him every time he turns his back on Blue.

Crim is at the end of his patience, and within his anger he has a realization: The guy has no longer has any hold on him. With Slick’s concrete place at his side, he’s got no reason to pay lip service to Blue’s shitty little ‘rules’ any longer.

Crim makes a show out of taking his gloves out of his pockets and expertly pulling them on, much to the other’s obviously building anger.

“If you think you can-” Blue starts, but Crim interrupts.

“I don’t know what’s wrong in your head,” Crim talks over him, not giving a single shit about what the other has to say, “but I ain’t sticking around to listen to your shit any longer. Do the damn dishes yourself.” He teleports into the backyard and sets off towards Muffet’s right away, craving the comfort of Slick’s presence. As long as he’s near, Crim doesn’t have to deal with Blue’s crap. The bastard is too deep into his web of lies to ever risk Slick finding out about his little act.

He’s only reached the library when he hears the sound of snow crunching behind him. He looks over his shoulder and isn’t surprised when he finds Blue running to catch up to him, now suddenly covered head to toe in some crazy new armor. It’s looks like he’s cobbled together a bunch of leather scraps together and cinced them tightly to his body, utilizing a number of metal rivets to hold the joints together. It’s dyed with the usual combination of his typical greys and light blues and emblazoned with a starburst pattern at the chest.

How did he even change that fast? It’s been like two minutes since he left. 

“Blue, I’m really not in the fuckin’ mood-” he begins with a sigh, but the smaller skeleton interrupts him as he comes to a harsh stop a few yards behind Crim. Crim turns halfway around so he doesn’t have to wring his neck to look at him.

“Enough!” Blue shouts, slightly out of breath from his quick sprint to catch up to Crim. “I’ve been silent for too long. It’s time we end this!” 

The sight before him is almost too comical.  _ Almost  _ enough to make Crim laugh. But the way Blue looks at him with hatred in his eyes and the sneer morphing his face into a grimace Crim hasn’t seen on him before is… dark. It’s desperate, foreign on the normally happy - and aggravating - little skeleton’s face. It’s _ just _ wrong enough to actually make a chill trickle down Crim’s spine and make his metaphorical hairs stand on edge. It feels like the surface of his bones is contracting, making his entire body feel uncomfortably small and too tight. 

“So fight me!” Blue shouts with a voice far too gloomy for someone who spends as much time smiling as he does. “Let’s finish this as  _ men!”  _ He makes a swift swipe with his hand in the air. A swirl of familiar blue magic whirls away from his fingers. It twinkles in the air a few seconds before fading into nothingness.

“Hmm let me think about that…” Crim pauses briefly, pretending to seriously consider it. He has no intention of fighting Blue. Not only because the other monster wouldn’t last more than a second against him, but he’s also unwilling to deal with the backlash he’d get from Alphys… and not to mention Slick.

“How about no?” he deadpans. He lets out a hollow, humorless laugh right after. “And they say _ I _ got anger issues.” He shakes his head. It’s too funny seeing the little ray of sunshine break like this. After weeks of him grumbling behind Slick’s and his backs, this is what Blue came up with. A fight. Man, he  _ really  _ must be desperate. 

“Kid, if you got a problem with what, or  _ who _ ,” he flashes Blue a smug grin amidst a pause, “your bro does, talk with  _ him _ about it. Me beating you to a pulp won’t help you with whatever stick got stuck in your ass.” He snorts, amused, when all his words do is make Blue stamp on the ground with his feet like an angry toddler.

“FIGHT ME!” he demands again, his voice going shrill to complete the illusion of childishness.

“No.” He can see how his words just serve to make Blue angrier. 

When Blue’s feet slide apart, like he’s getting ready for a fight, Crim spins around, deciding to spend his day on something that’s more interesting than watching Slick’s brother throw a temper tantrum. He starts walking away, but barely makes it four steps before something small clacks against the back of his skull with a rattling sound. A sharp pain spreads, but it’s quickly deafened by the burst of rage roaring to life in his soul. 

His magic reacts for him, slipping easily into his hands and painting his eyelights in his own, dark shade of red.

Crim turns around slowly, fists clenched at his sides, finding Blue with one of his hands still outstretched from the attack. The little skeleton seems hesitant, like he regrets what he did, but only for a moment. Then he squares his shoulders and bends his knees, his face a mask of focus. 

“I won’t let you leave,” he declares.

“Kid…” He feels his chest vibrate with sound as his words leaves his mouth, low and threatening. “Walk. Away.  _ Now. _ ” 

“Never! I’m tired of watching you twist my brother’s mind with your- your  _ tricks _ .” Crim notices that small pause.

“Tricks?” Crim repeats, trying to process Blue’s words through his anger and incredulity. “You think I’m using some kinda dirty  _ tricks _ on him? To what? Steal him from you? Why the fuck would I need to do that?” Blue shuffles around on the spot, but says nothing. His eyelights flicker out to the side. Crim’s follow, and he sees the shadows of people gathering in the street, made curious by their loud voices. It makes him nervous and his magic jittery - he can’t teleport out of this mess now. Not with all of these other monsters watching. Had Blue planned this?

“Buddy,” he says instead of the biting string of words that he wants to lash out with, making his voice ring a bit louder on purpose just to make sure their new witnesses can hear him - just in case. “I can’t help that he’s falling in love with me.” By the way the other skeleton’s face twists, Crim thinks the expletives might have been better.

“No!” Blue shouts. “NO HE’S NOT! Yo- you’re using some mind tricks on him. I know it!” 

“You know just as well as I do that skeletons don’t have that kinda magic, kid,” Crim continues, trying to keep his cool. He doesn’t bother hiding what he is anymore - no one believes the lie about the Mimic anymore anyway. Hopefully Blue will come to his senses so they can all laugh about his tantrum later and then forget about it. “We’re not built for deception. That’s not our purpose.”

“Yo-you have to,” Blue stutters, suddenly sounding unsure. “He wouldn’t j-just…”

“What?” Crim asks harshly. “Live his own life? Feel love for other people than you? You’ve been keeping him on a tight leash buddy, but take it from me: Sooner or later they’ll grow up and then they don’t need you anymore. You gotta let him go or you’ll suffocate him.” 

Crim thinks he can see a manic swirl in Blue’s huge eyelights. “SHUT UP! I’M DOING WHAT I HAVE TO DO TO PROTECT HIM!” 

“You’re strangling him,  _ that’s _ what you’re doing. I get that you’re terrified of losing him, but pal, this,” Crim gestures between them, “ain’t the way. He’s  _ happy _ . Can’t ya just be happy for him?”

The shorter skeleton’s whole frame seems to be rattling, his elbows pressed up against the sides of his breastplate and his hands contorted into rigid shapes before him. “Just  _ shut up _ !” Blue’s shrill voice carries through the crisp air. “Don’t talk about things you don’t know!” He jabs an accusing finger in Crim’s direction. “Where were  _ you _ all the times he Fell Down and almost died?!  _ I _ brought him back! I’ve struggled for  _ years _ trying to keep him safe and you just show up here and suddenly everything is- is  _ different _ !”

“So it’s  _ my  _ fault that he’s recovering?” He shakes his head, almost unable to believe what he’s hearing. “What is this, a fucking contest? Are you even hearing yourself talk, because  _ holy shit _ . That holier-than-thou act you got goin’ is gettin’ real fuckin’ old, real fast.”

“So I should just trust him with you?  _ You? _ ” He barks out a short, humorless laugh. “The guy who  _ left _ when life got a little too tough for him?”

Crim suddenly feels like he’s frozen to the ground with his eyes fixated on the other skeleton. He knows that Blue isn’t talking about Slick anymore.

“You’re crossing a line here,  _ buddy,” _ he growls, and it seems to come straight from his chest, vibrating in the air even after he’s finished speaking. Over it, he can hear the tightening of the leather gloves as he digs the tips of his fingers into his palm.

Triumph at Crim’s warning spreads over Blue’s stature, and his bright eyelights narrow ever so slightly. “I don’t care how you justify it in your head! He’s not some...  _ replacement _ for your stupid mistakes! He’s  _ my _ brother, not  _ yours _ ! So you can - you can  _ fuck right off. _ ”

All of a sudden, it becomes easy. He forgets about the people that are slowly stepping backwards as if they can feel the tension rise. He forgets about the chill in the air trying to get through his jacket. He even forgets why he hesitated in the first place.

And where these thoughts fail, his magic simply reacts. Wordlessly, it coalescences as he unclenches a fist, and his fingers find familiarity in the texture of the construct’s grip, in the way it rests with the clubbed, spiked end in the snow to his side. It can hardly be called such due to the numerous imperfections and red-tipped spines running along the sides, but it approximates a bat. He wishes the hand wrapped around the hilt was closed around the other skeleton’s neck instead, and his magic  _ agrees. _ He can feel it buzzing murderously in his chest and blaze from his eyesockets.

So he can’t teleport. That’s just fine. He doesn’t need that brand of magic to knock the smug expression off of Blue’s face. The little fucker is excited now, he can tell. He got his fight.

Crim takes a step forward, magic flaring from his free hand as the bat drags behind him, the thicker spikes on the head scraping loudly on a layer of permafrost beneath the freshly fallen snow. In response, Blue summons three stubby-looking bone projectiles that float over his head, triangulating on Crim’s location. They tilt further downward as he takes another step, making a humorless, cold grin spread over Crim’s face. It shows off every single one of his sharp teeth.

“Come on!” Blue’s voice rings out, challenging, through the relative silence of the chilly Snowdin day. 

On the third step, Crim summons his own projectiles with a wave of his free hand. They’re individually much smaller than Blue’s - no larger each than the size of a gold piece - but they outnumber the three bones by a magnitude of four. They’re also much sharper, displaying jagged, brittle edges around a cracked, bulging center.

Also unlike Blue’s, they don’t hesitate in shooting forward. En masse, the rain of pellet-like projectiles fall in a sheet at and around the shorter skeleton’s position. Blue tilts his stance upwards, and a few pepper onto the thick shields of curved bone he summons over his lower arms to block the attack, but the majority of them disappear harmlessly into the snow surrounding him. Those that hit the shields crack and disintegrate into wisps of dark red, and Blue’s shit-eating grin returns in full force.

Crim lets it wash over him, because he sure as fuck won’t be smiling soon. 

He finally breaks into a run as Blue’s stance shifts once again towards him, and his free hand comes around to fit tightly below the other on his own bone construct. He swings it in an arc as Blue’s projectiles speed towards him, and he manages to completely shatter one and displace another, but the third splinters past him as it impacts the bat. He curses as the shards of bone whistle past him, just barely missing the side of his face before they disintegrate.

There’s a flash of bright magic from Blue, and just like he’d seen the other do the day he’d watched him train with Alphys, the first of many waves of tall bones spear up through the icy ground and tear towards him, trying to push him back. There are gaps in the pattern formed of blue magic, forcing him to weave through attack after attack to get to the caster, forcing him to stop his charge periodically to avoid the potentially deadly walls of bone. Crim is fast enough to keep up with the changing pattern, but not fast enough to close the distance while constantly monitoring and dodging into the ‘safe zones’ Blue purposefully leaves between the bones. When two full waves go by without forward progress, the haughty laughter of the other skeleton rings out.

“Getting tired yet?” Blue’s chirping voice carries over the grinding and crunching noise of the bones sliding across the ground. “Maybe if you ask nicely I’ll stop.” The arrogance of the words further pisses Crim off, but he channels his anger towards his footwork.

“ _ Fuck you _ !” He snarls into the air. Crim curses again as he just barely brushes through another gap without being touched. It feels like the maze of bones is closing around him, and he can catch glimpses of a cocky grin on Blue’s face as he careens around another corner. 

“I have to give you at least a  _ small _ chance,” Blue says with a condescending lilt. “Otherwise there’s no fairness in it.”

“Shove your chivalrous bullshit!” Crim yells, and summons a handful of his bullets. They fly up over the waves of bones before arcing harmlessly by Blue without coming close to hitting him. The other ignores them with a giggle.

What Blue  _ can’t  _ ignore are the two subsequent explosions of snow and bone shrapnel that spew up from where the bullets impact their earlier counterparts, still lodged invisibly below the fresh powder. They impact Blue from either side, and the numerous small shards tear into his armor and rake at the bones underneath.

With a pained yelp, the waves of bones wisp into trails of dusty magic as Blue, stance now only loosely facing Crim, looks around wildly at the innocent-seeming ground surrounding them both. Crim doesn’t pause his advance for Blue’s confusion, and the other monster barely has time to block before the bat crashes down against his shields. Both shields crack and the bat shatters in a dizzying display, and the resulting flash of magic causes both of them to stumble backwards.

As Crim summons another wave of his bullets to hover ominously in the air above him, Blue shuttles magic into repairing his shields with a distinctly worried expression on his face. It’s a far cry from earlier, and Crim relishes it.

“You ain’t got nowhere to run, you little shit,” Crim laughs harshly. “Reap what you fucking sow.”

“That’s cheating!” Blue yells as he dips back into an uneasy defensive position. The accusation only makes Crim laugh harder.

“Guess what, fucko?” Crim mocks. “Life _isn’t_ fair.” He steps closer. “You’ve been livin’ in a fairytale world, _little Blue_ , but it’s time to wake the fuck up. Fighting isn’t _fun_ or _fair_. It’s a _battle_ _to the death_.”

Crim’s words net him a swiftly summoned, single blue projectile towards his face, but he holds up his hands to coalesce a new bat in time to completely block it. Bone crashes into bone with a splintering thud, and one of Crim’s projectiles descends, making Blue jump as an explosion of snow and bone sprays him from just off to his left.

“You’re a fuckin’ waste of my time, ya know that?” Another projectile, another explosion, but behind Blue this time, causing him to whirl in an attempt to block it. “You conceited-”

Another, off to Blue’s left.

“ _ Manipulative. _ ”

Another speeds down to impact between them, casting up a veil of disturbed snow that obscures Crim’s vision for a brief moment. The shards of bone sail harmlessly through him - his own magic can’t hurt him.

“Pathe-”

Something cracks against the side of Crim’s skull before the snow even settles and his vision blacks out. When it returns, he’s lying on his back amidst the torn-up, scattered snow of their battlefield. His eyelights are flickering from both shock and pain, only allowing him to view the world as one huge, red-fringed blur. One cheek in the snow, he can see lumpy outline of the spined bat lying at his side, sharp edges slowly fragmenting and dissolving into trails of red magic. Splatters of dark marrow decorate the scuffed, mounded white, the sight making his throat tighten in a too familiar way as he feels his magic twist inside him.

Distantly, he can hear someone shouting his name in an aggravatingly loud, piping fashion.

“-im! CRIM! I’m sorry, please wake up, please don’t be dusting- CRIM!” He’s being shaken bodily by hands digging into the thick material of his jacket. When that does nothing, he feels Blue’s magic prodding intrusively at his soul.

He’s being Judged.

The sickening, invasive feeling coiling in his chest snaps him back to furious awareness. He literally sees red, magic overtaking his eyelights, his sockets filling with solid crimson. His left hand clenches into a tight fist.

“Oh Stars no,” comes Blue’s horrified gasp from above his chest when he undoubtedly sees the last few hundredths of Crim’s few HP points flicker. He recognizes that crushing weight on his chest and the feeling of slowly suffocating. Crim can feel his soul struggle, digging into his magic reserves stored on his body in a last desperate effort to keep him clinging to life.

“I’ll heal-” A forceful left hook to the face finishes whatever Blue had been about to say, causing the other monster to lose his hold on his magic and reel backwards. Crim shoves him the rest of the way over and is on top of him a moment later. The enraged blaze of his eyes reflects off of every shiny, polished plate and rivet in Blue’s armor - hundreds of hateful, crimson lights winking balefully back up at him. His hands are spread on either side of the pinned monster’s head.

“Give me a reason.” Low and threatening, the words spill out from between his bared teeth as he locks wide, swirling eyesockets with the other skeleton.

Blue looks rightly terrified, so scared that he can’t even focus his magic on his normally blue eyelights. Instead, small white pinpricks look up at him from wide sockets. Only the steady drip of marrow seeping out of the side of Crim’s head and splattering on Blue’s cheek punctuates the silence as they stare at each other.

Crim can feel the magic coming off of him like a dark smog, waiting impatiently to be unleashed. It’s not only spread over his hands anymore - it rolls off of his whole body in hungry, chaotic waves, plumes of it rolling outwards as they touch the snow, darkening the white canvas around them into a bloody masterpiece. The manifestation of his anger paints Blue, paints the landscape, paints his vision.

He wants nothing more than to allow it to tear Blue apart, piece by piece. 

“ _ Give me a fucking reason _ ,” he snarls, their faces bare inches apart, and he can feel Blue physically cringe inwards for a lack of anywhere to go.

“P-please,” Blue stutters, large droplets building in his sockets and spilling over, mixing with the marrow covering his face. “Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Crim! I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, I swear! I j-just wanted to win for once, I never meant to-” 

“ _ Is this a fucking game to you?!” _ Crim shouts into Blue’s face, cutting him off. Blue turns his face away with a start, his entire body trembling in fear. He cries harder, mumbling “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” over and over again. Crim’s magic curls around them, whipping up the powdered snow and flakes of ice. He feels it rain down over them, but there’s no cold. Just blazing hot  _ rage _ . He’s losing control and it feels  _ amaz- _

His chest suddenly fills with oddly familiar magic, heavy and invasive. His soul is wrapped in it tightly, restrained like a criminal put in chains. His magic snuffs out in a split second, blocked by the restraints. Crim’s sockets barely have time to widen before he feels the magic pull at him, almost ripping his soul out of his body. He flies through the air and lands  _ hard _ in the snow several feet away. 

He coughs as the magic releases him just enough so he can finally breathe. He rolls over, sucking air into himself roughly, desperately. His chest still feels too tight and he claws at it, urging it to let the air circulate freely. 

“What-” Slick sounds absolutely  _ furious _ , “ _ the hell _ do you think you’re doing?!” Crim finds him in front of Blue, standing in a ring of scuffed snow and marrow. From the exact same place Crim had been kneeling just a few seconds or so ago, Slick has one hand reaching out towards Crim with dark orange magic twisting around the hand like thick magical tendrils. The surface of the magic looks almost fuzzy and it jerks and twists around Slick’s hand. It looks like it’s trying to escape his hold, but he doesn’t allow it to move far before pulling it back.

_ Slick _ did this to him? How the-

“Defending myself. I thought that was pretty fucking obvious,” Crim answers, gesturing to Blue who’s up from the ground and now cowering behind Slick. He struggles to find his balance again. The tightness in his chest only grows as he moves and his limbs feel heavier than he remembers them being. The magic inside him tightens its grip, immobilizing him.

“Funny, ‘cause it looked to me like you were in the middle of  _ killing my brother _ ,” Slick shouts at him. Crim looks away, a knot of guilt forming in his chest. He can’t argue against it because he’d been  _ so close _ to doing just that - he was  _ so angry _ , is  _ still _ so fucking angry that just looking at Blue’s face makes his mouth fill with that metallic tang again. 

It’s all Blue’s fucking fault! That little bastard  _ wanted _ this to happen. He planned it all, provoked Crim, he made sure they had  _ witnesses _ so Crim couldn’t use the one kind of magic that would make sure Blue couldn’t even  _ touch _ him. Crim wouldn’t even be surprised if Blue planned on Slick showing up in the middle of it too.

Crim can’t stop himself from glancing at Blue and seeing that small smirk on his face, that satisfaction bred from listening to them argue-

_ That little shit _ . 

“So you’re just gonna keep believing whatever crap he feeds you even when the evidence is  _ right here _ ?” Crim asks, anger now re-fueled and burning hotly in his soul. He turns his skull to the side, giving Slick a full display of the painful, oozing crack in the bone. “Because no matter what I fucking do, I’m always the bad guy and he’s the innocent princess in this fucked up narrative, right? Well, you know what?  _ Screw you. _ ” He touches the crack in his head to get a feel for how bad it actually is and he winces when a flash of pain shoots through his head. It’s almost cracked all the way through.

“Babe-” Crim cuts him off before he can say anything, the endearment suddenly leaving a nauseating taste of decay on the back of his tongue. 

“I thought you knew me by now,” Crim says, voice thick and struggling to pass the lump forming in his throat, “but you’re no fucking different than- than  _ these assholes _ .” His gaze sweeps sharply over the dwindling group of spectating monsters that are in the process of shuffling off in the face of Slick’s timely intervention. “I should’ve known better,” he says, bitterness suffusing his words. “I should have fucking known this shit was too good to be true.” 

“Sans? What the hell did you do to him?!” Slick is moving forward, leaving Blue behind and even though Blue’s expression shifts from slightly amused to horrified, Crim feels no satisfaction from seeing it. Slick already picked sides, his soul already  _ picked _ and Crim wasn’t his choice. There’s no words that can describe the thick, suffocating  _ anguish _ that fills every cavity in his body and soul at that realization. He bared his everything to this guy, let him  _ Read  _ his soul not even twelve hours ago and Slick so easily picked  _ Blue _ \- his fucking obviously manipulative little shit of a brother - instead of Crim. He didn’t even bother to ask or listen, he just instantly assumed and there’s nothing that hurts more than that. Slick’s soul didn’t just pick Blue over him, his mind had instantly picked Crim as the bad guy too, despite everything he saw in his soul last night. 

“Crim, I’m sorry,” Slick says softly. The hands he’s reaching out towards Crim now are free from magic and his eyes are back to their normal darkened state, which means that the tightness Crim feels around his soul now isn’t Slick’s magic rooting him to the spot.

Crim doesn’t allow him to finish, doesn’t want to hear it. “So all I am to you is a good fuck, huh?” He sniffs and drags the back of a hand over his cheek, wiping off some of the mess of marrow, dirt and melted snow. “Okay,” he says quickly after, voice tight. “Good to know where we stand.” The first tear spills over and wets his cheek.

“Babe, no, no no-” Crim cuts him off again, but not with words. He doesn’t believe Slick or his pathetic attempts to calm him down. Crim knows he’d do anything to correct his mistake, Slick’s increasingly desperate expression speaking of the exact amount of how much he knows he fucked up, but it’s too late. Far too late. Slick has already made his choice, and now, so has Crim.

He barely even looks around when he collects one of the last shreds of his magic and wraps it around himself, teleporting away. He doesn’t have any destination in mind, he just needs to be  _ gone _ ,  _ hidden  _ and  _ safe _ for awhile. 

He reappears somewhere darker. It’s a small cave, covered from bottom to ceiling in thick algae growths caused by the humid air. There’s some light coming from a cluster of crystals somewhere off to his right, but his sight is too blurred by tears for him to see it clearly. All he can see is the outline of a wooden bench in the middle of the small cave.

The air is almost too humid. It feels uncomfortable when the growing sense of hysteria suddenly gets a hold of him and he starts sucking in desperate breaths between the deep, rough sobs that start wracking his body. His knees give out under him and he ends up on the spongy ground, the bench digging into his ribs. He hides his face in his hands, the world seeming too big and unfriendly in the light of his latest realization. It’s so hard to breathe, so hard to even  _ think _ . His mind throws around the same few words, constantly reminding him of just how alone in the world he suddenly is, cut off from his brother and stuck in an unforgiving universe that has hurt him worse than even his own ever managed to do.

Reality hurts like hell, but even worse than that is the thick, disgusting, greasy feeling in his soul that comes from being used. He’d let his guard down in this shitty universe and he’d been  _ used. _ And not just by Blue, but Slick as well.

The realization that he had been right the whole time - that the whole thing was too good to be true - is exactly as devastating as he had envisioned it being from the start. Why hadn’t he listened to his conscience when it had told him that he needed to ignore those feelings? Now he’s stuck and  _ broken _ and there’s nowhere to hide.

What the hell is he going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos will be very much appreciated! 
> 
> Come scream at us over on tumblr! 
> 
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~


	21. Rupture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we’re a little embarrassed to tell you that we have all this good art about the story and we forgot to actually put them in the chapters before now? I’m sorry, lovely artists! We’ll be better about this in the future! We had two of you on our Tumblr feeds (one is a Korean twitter account we discovered via hearsay [thanks lucyhblack!] in the three weeks between the last chapter and now) but we’ve never actually mentioned any of you in our story notes. Jeez! Look at this amazing art, guys and give these artists your love:
> 
> [IanLee100's interpretation from Twitter](https://twitter.com/IanLee110/status/964158004592394240)
> 
> [fluckingfeathers's cute little domestic scene](http://shivra.tumblr.com/post/165712666687/two-way-road-chapter-im-noob-to-tumblr-so-dont)
> 
> [Windupsinner's heartbreakingly powerful Slick](http://windupsinner.tumblr.com/post/165043745797/what-does-it-feel-like-papyrus-asks-him)

## ~ Chapter Twenty-One ~  
Rupture

_“A stiff apology is a second insult…_  
_The injured party does not want to be_  
_compensated because he has been_  
_wronged; he wants to be healed_  
_because he has been hurt.”_

Gilbert K. Chesterton

 

GD and LD haven’t even started their morning rituals of building lampposts and clearing the freshly fallen snow from the street when Crim returns to the Snowdin cave. Night hasn’t passed, so the cave is still in its darkened state when he steps up to the front door of the house. He hesitates before grabbing the handle, hang hanging in the air. He just needs to get Missy and then he’s gone again. He repeats it to himself hoping to find his courage. When it feels like he can touch the handle without falling apart he deems that close enough.

His vision swims when he foolishly shakes his head, trying to get the exhaustion to retreat for long enough for him to pretend he’s okay. It’s almost impossible to settle his expression into the usual mask of indifference, almost like it doesn’t fit him anymore. Instead of struggling with it, he decides to just get his errand over with.

The door clicks softly when he opens it. He steps inside, fully expecting the sudden harsh inhale and the blur of movement rushing towards him. Slick is in his face before Crim can even close the door.

“Crim please-” Slick tries, but Crim uses his hand to break their eye contact, cutting him off.

“Don’t.” He pushes past the other and continues into the living room, trying desperately to not let the hurt expression on Slick’s face affect him.

“C-Crim…” Blue’s sitting on the couch, arms wrapped around himself. His face is completely covered in tears, his eyes dark and empty, suggesting that he’s probably been crying since their fight. “Oh S-Stars, I thought I killed y-you…” He can’t do anything but stare at him. He doesn’t know what to say. Some part of him still wants to feel Blue’s skull give out under the weight of his bat, but he forces that urge way back until all he can feel is a fluttering hatred burning in his chest. He leaves the other in the tensed coldness of his silence and turns away when he sees his expression shift, guilt and shame washing in over Blue again. He starts sobbing.

Crim makes a few soft noises and clicks his tongue against his teeth. A lazy miau answers his call and a few moments later a majestic ball of fur walks into view at the top of the stairs. Looks like Missy has spent the night in Slick’s room. That makes Crim’s soul twist. That should have been him. _That should have been him._

He picks up the cat and hugs her tightly to his chest, burying his face in her fur. He lets her scent wash over him and calm him down before letting her crawl into his jacket. He zips it up around her body and pats her butt lovingly, signaling to her that she needs to settle down. She does so moments later.

“No, Crim please, don’t go,” Slick begs when Crim walks towards the front door again. When all he does is ignore him, Slick steps in front the door, keeping Crim from reaching it. “Just talk to me, let me apologize or- or _something_.”

“Why should I?” he asks. “You sure as hell don’t deserve it.”

“I fucked up, I know, but what would you have done in my place? I just saw someone _enraged_ holding my brother to the ground,” he hurriedly tries to explain. “I just saw my brother _hurt_ and _covered in marrow_ and I assumed the worst. I shouldn’t have, but-”

“But you fucking did,” Crim cuts him off, pointing a finger at his sternum. “You looked at me and you saw a _killer_. Despite every-” His voice breaks and he looks away, hugging Missy closer to him. She protests with a weak mewl, but doesn’t claw him up like she normally would. Maybe she can feel how close to dusting he is.

“Despite _everything_ I showed you,” he tries again, this time in a whisper. He ignores the slight wobble in his voice when he looks back at Slick. “You still looked at me and saw someone who could kill that easily. You just assumed it was all my fault, never even _thought_ about aiming that blame at _him_.” Crim doesn’t even need to gesture towards Blue behind him. Blue starts sobbing harder and Slick’s expression falls, his eyes flickering between his brother’s form on the couch and Crim’s face.

“You know, I always thought there was only one kind of Judgement I feared. After all, letting someone else see your ultimate weakness is kinda scary. But you…” Crim looks at him again and feels nothing but despair. “You showed me that the blind kinda judgement is even worse.”

“I’m so sorry…” Slick reaches out to touch him, but Crim steps back, avoiding him.

“Shove your sorry,” he says in a dull tone. “Just… just get the hell out of my way, Slick.”

The two of them stare at each other - Crim’s somber, tired expression versus Slick’s tortured, pained one - for an eternity, it seems, with Blue’s hiccuping sobs in the background. Slick looks down and slowly, hesitantly, as if every movement is going to break him, steps away from the door. His entire body trembles.

The moment he has a clear shot, Crim’s hand is twisting the handle and letting the whipping, numbing cold wash over him.

“Are you coming back?” The question from behind is quiet and meek and fills Crim with bitterness.

“Where else am I gonna fucking go?” He says it while practically hanging from the door handle. “I’m trapped here.” He gives the door a good pull without looking back, causing it to slam shut with finality.

* * *

 

Had it not been for the purring kitten lying right next to his face, Crim would never have found any kind of rest during the night. As he wakes up, he thinks that he might as well have stayed up. He’s exhausted and sore all over, his joints protesting when he moves to sit up. He doesn’t feel like he’s slept at all. There’s no doubt that the inn leaves a lot to be desired, especially with the hibernating bear snoring away in the next room, but he literally had nowhere else to go. He just couldn’t make himself go back to the house last night and Dogaressa offered him a room at half the usual price when he came stumbling in after grabbing Missy from the house, probably looking like Hell had gotten its claws in him.

Missy stretches and yawns deeply when he scratches her behind the ear to wake her up. Her claws poke out and curl into the fabric of the pillow, but before Crim can reach out to unhook her she’s already rolling over, releasing the pillow in favor of rubbing her head on his hand. “Come on Missy, we got work to do.” She’s not happy about being picked up, but she crawls up on his shoulders when he lifts her up. She finds her usual spot, butt half-hanging on his back supported by his hood and her belly pressing into his neck. Her face rubs against his cheek, careful of the deep crack still sending a burning ache through one side of his face. Her rhythmic purrs start up again, offering waves of calm to soothe his troubled soul.

Crim leaves the inn, eyes stuck on his boots and hands hidden in his pockets. He’s lucky that Dogaressa is already at the store, probably helping Doggo set up his new shipment of veggies from Waterfall, so she can’t question him about his now obvious injuries. Where they had been hidden in the darkness of the night and the hood of his jacket he had pulled up around his head, there’s nothing to hide the redness of the crack or the smudge of marrow still a visible tinge on the edges of the wound.

He makes it to the Café without trouble and picks the stool furthest to the left at the counter, hoping the angle will hide the poor state he’s in from any curious eyes.

Muffet appears before him with her usual bright smile and loud “Hello Dearie~”. Crim looks up at her, forcing a smile that turns into a wince when her expression turns livid. She grabs his chin to force his face to the left, putting the crack in his skull in clear view of her many eyes. She examines his wound carefully before she lets go.

“Why haven’t you gotten that healed?” she asks. She’s barely done talking before her hands start working, pulling together a plate of breakfast items that are promptly set before him along with a glass of cider and a cup of tea. A purple glow ignites around her hands as she waves two of them over the items and she grabs his face again, although more gently this time. She presses careful fingertips to the bruised area around his wound and he sucks in a breath, trying to force the yelp of pain back. His reaction only makes her tsk and shake her head.

“One day that boy will get himself into serious trouble,” she comments.

“You know what happened?” Crim asks, grunting a bit when the sting of healing magic forces the bone to snap back together.

“Of course I know,” she snaps. “ _Everybody_ knows. People haven’t stopped talking about what happened yesterday. I must have heard six different versions of the story.” She catches his gaze for a brief moment. “I’m guessing you didn’t open up a portal to the void and speak with the voices of ten thousand demons as you promised Sans a slow and painful death?”

“The hell?” Crim grunts. “If I’d been able to do that, I wouldn’t have this crack in my skull, now would I?”

“Mhm,” Muffet just hums. She shakes her head angrily again when she lets go of his face, pulling her magic back. “It’s going to scar,” she says, like he didn’t already know.

“Heh, what’s one more for the collection?” He touches the wound again and is pleased to find it almost healed. His soul already feels much calmer and he’s finally able to let his magic rest, letting his eyelights dip back into their neutral white.

“Eat,” Muffet demands, pushing the plate closer to him. He does as told, eagerly digging into the meal laced with even more healing magic. The intrusion of foreign magic around his soul, poking at the wounded areas still open and oozing magic causes a reaction of panic in him, but he is quick to force it down. Her magic is slowly surrounding his soul in a protective barrier, healing his lost HP and he needs to let it do its job.

Muffet doesn’t leave him, but she does pour tea and prepare other plates of food while he eats in silence.

“Nobody can believe Sans would actually do something like that,” she says after a while. “Say all those terrible things to you. And for what? Because Papyrus finally fell in love? Stars know what’s going on inside that thick skull of his.” Crim makes a noncommittal sound, not knowing what to say. He knows she sees Slick and Blue as her sort of adoptive smaller siblings, always has at least one eye on them, making sure they’re doing okay. The last thing he wants to do is piss her off by insulting Blue, despite wanting nothing more than to tell her exactly what he thinks about the little skeleton.

“So?” she prompts him. It’s possible that she sees his relative silence for what it was - a way to stay out of an obviously risky conversation. She rests an elbow on the counter in front of him and looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

Crim sighs and rubs the back of a hand over his mouth. “Dunno what to tell ya Muf, the guy has had it out for me since the day I arrived,” he tells her, shrugging slightly with a shoulder. Missy hums and pokes her claws into his sweater, unhappy with being disturbed. Her movement makes Muffet aware of her presence, and seconds later there’s a small bowl of kitten milk on the counter being offered to the sleepy cat. Missy takes the bait without protest and makes small happy sounds as she slurps her treat.

“I doubt that’s true, but I suppose yesterday shows I don’t really know Sans as well as I thought I did.” She sighs deeply before continuing. “What will you do?”

“About what?” he asks, confused.

“Sans first of all,” she says, “but also Papyrus.” Crim swallows thickly when her gaze turns hard as stone. “He came in here last night, Crim, out of his mind with worry. He could barely say three words without choking on his own tongue.” Crim’s eyes flick down, avoiding hers.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks carefully, knowing that he’s on thin ice. He shouldn’t have come here. What was he thinking? Muffet is Slick’s best friend. He should have known he’d be the bad guy in her eyes too.

“Well, calling the Captain and putting in a formal report of assault concerning Sans would be a good start,” Muffet says, surprising Crim. “He forced you into a fight and attacked you without provocation. That shouldn’t go unpunished, even if it will cost him that promotion he’s been working so hard for. It’s about time he realized his actions have consequences.”

“What?” Crim forces out, almost choking on the half chewed bite of donut in his mouth. He swallows and repeats his question.

“You heard me,” she says. “Sans has been reckless for a long time and he needs a reminder that the world doesn’t revolve around him. Now, Papyrus…”

“Please don’t,” Crim hurries to cut her off. “I can’t Muf. I just can’t-”

“Nonsense,” she interrupts him too, voice harsh and sharp. “You can and you will. No matter what that boy did, he doesn’t deserve this pain. He looks at you like you hung the damn Moon and Stars and the least you can do is show the decency to talk to him about what happened so he doesn’t worry himself to death. You of all people should know how much he hurts every day, how bad his soul is.”

“How about my soul?” Crim snaps. “Why does nobody care about what happens to me? What _he_ did to me?”

“Because you are _strong_ ,” she answers harshly, slamming a hand on the counter. “Pap is _not_. He’s fragile and has already lost hope. He was barely hanging on when you showed up. What do you think will happen if he loses that new hope he’s been clinging to? Are you really so selfish you can’t sacrifice a few hours of comfort for his well being, despite your hatred for him?”

“I don’t hate him!” Crim protests immediately, shocked that she would even suggest such a thing.

“No? Surprising, since you seem willing to let him Fall Down because you feel like you’ve been wronged.”

“I love him, ok?” Crim hisses at her. “I let him _Read my soul_. He fucking saw _everything about me_ and he still trusted that little shit over me.”

Muffet tsks again, flicking her tongue angrily against her teeth. “Typical,” she says. “You’re all so young and naive.” She leans down and suddenly her voice gains a darkness that sends chills down Crim’s spine. “Do you really think love works like that? You offer him your soul and that means his instantly changes its ways? His sorrows are suddenly over and his past life means nothing?”

She shakes her head at him, like a disapproving mother. “You poor, innocent child. Love isn’t always believing your soulmate or even taking their side. Love is _pain_ and _suffering_. It’s hurting so much you think you are about to dust because the one you love didn’t make the right decision or reacted badly to a situation. It’s challenging them to be better and stronger and to _fight them_ and their misconceptions with every ounce of power your soul holds, because you want the best for them. Even if it means breaking their world apart.” She pulls back and crosses her arms.

“Love is not a dance on roses, _Sans_. Love _hurts_ and it’s never fair. It’s never logical and it will never be easy. So, Papyrus took his brother’s side? The person who’s been there through his entire life, who cared for him for years when he was at his lowest point and carried his burdens when he wasn’t strong enough to do so himself? He chose his guardian over his crush. Honestly, I can’t see why you wouldn’t be happy that he didn’t sacrifice the only safety he has in this world for something as uncertain as a blossoming love. If you _truly_ love him as you say, that should have been a sign of Papyrus getting _better_ and it should make you _happy_ that’s he’s no longer reckless enough to sacrifice everything he has for something temporary.”

“I- Muffet, I don’t...”

“Because you are still going “home”, are you not?” she asks, two hands making quotations in the air. “And you still expect him to support you, when you so easily would turn your back on him if you had the chance?”

Although he tries, Crim can’t come up with a single thing to say. It leaves a suffocating, heavy silence between them.

After nearly a minute Muffet sighs deeply and unfolds her arms again, resting all four hands against the edge of the counter as she leans forward again. “Listen,” she says, her voice much softer now. “I know it hurts. It hurts so badly to be wronged by a person you love, but you have to give him a chance to change and apologize, even if you won’t forgive him. Apologizing won’t make the hurt go away and it won’t help him be free of the guilt of having hurt you, but it will help both of you heal, even if it’s not together. Love can be more than just pain. Don’t waste it because of ignorance. Be strong enough to allow him to at least explain himself and to admit that maybe you reacted badly too. Be strong enough to apologize, despite not feeling like you need to. Because you hurt him too, Crim.”

Crim looks at her, taking in the oddly dark look in her eyes and the sadness etched into every shadow of her face. Her words hold a weight he can feel but not quite understand. It makes them feel heavier as they settle in his soul and makes it easier to nod his head, deciding to take her advice.

“Okay. I’ll go find him-”

“PAPY!” Blue’s voice rings through the café, piercing through the soft music coming from the jukebox in the corner. It completely drowns out what Crim was in the middle of saying and both he and everybody else in the café turns to watch Blue stumble through the door in a panicked rush.

Blue spots him and instantly runs to him, not even a shadow of hesitation crossing his face. “Crim!” he calls, saying his name like it’s the salvation he’s been seeking. “Please, please tell me you’ve seen Papy?”

“Not since I left this morning, no,” Crim answers, voice tight with withheld anger. There’s something concerning about the expression on Blue’s face, about the tears constantly streaming down his cheeks. He looks at Muffet.

“He’s gone,” he tells her, voice thick. “W-we had a fight and he left.”

Muffet hurries out from behind the counter and wraps Blue up in a tight hug. Blue breaks down when her arms are around him, hiding his face at her neck and digging his fingers into her shirt. “What did he say, Sans?” Muffet asks as she calmly rubs his back.

“T-that he was tired of my s-shit and that he needed a drink,” Blue cries loudly. “I didn’t know where t-to go Muffet. I’m s-so s-scared.”

“Wait, hang on a minute- He’s _gone_?” Crim asks. Blue nods and cries harder. “How the hell can he be gone?”

“He just left!” Blue sobs.

“He’s done it before,” Muffet explains in a somber tone, her expression unreadable to Crim. “Back when-” She cuts herself off for a moment, just long enough for her to lift Blue into her arms and wrap him up tightly, holding him like a child. She sits down on the stool next to Crim. “Back when he started falling into his depression. He was reckless and unpredictable, one moment happy and smiling and making jokes, and the other… He would snap and then disappear for days. Whenever he showed up he was blackout drunk, unable to understand anything. One time it got so bad, he…”

“H-he Fell Down,” Blue hiccups, finishing Muffet’s sentence. “H-his magic is too weak to h-handle it. He used it up too f-fast and when he f-fell asleep, he wouldn’t wake up again. I h-had t-to…” Blue dissolves again, his words becoming impossible for Crim to understand.

“Sans kept him alive by feeding him magic from his own soul,” Muffet explains.

“We gotta find him then,” Crim declares. He jumps off the stool and picks up Missy, making her crawl up on his shoulders. His soul is rapidly becoming heavier, guilt and worry wrapping around his throat like a noose.

“I-I’ve already looked e-everywhere,” Blue cries. “I can’t find him.”

“I ain’t you,” Crim snaps at him. “I got _my_ ways of searching and I’m going. If you wanna give up and sit here and weep like a baby, then do as you fucking please. I got a search party to organize.” Crim leaves payment for his breakfast before he storms out of the café.

Crim digs out his phone the second he’s outside, his fingers easily navigating through the menus until he finds Alphys’ number. As he waits for her to pick up, a familiar blue shadow appears at his side. Crim only glances at him, but says nothing. The phone rings only once.

“Crim,” comes Alphys’ voice from the device. “I’ve been expecting this call since yesterday. I heard what happened.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t calling to report him for assault,” Crim says, eyeing Blue sharply. “Yet.” Blue looks up at him with wide sockets, fear edged into his features.

“Why _are_ you calling then?”

“I need your help,” Crim says. It takes a few tries before he can get Slick’s real name out, his gut twisting when he does. “P-papyrus is gone. We need a search party.” Alphys is silent for a few moments and then she sighs deeply.

“I’ll leave immediately. Meet me at the house.” She hangs up after that.

* * *

 

Fifteen hours later there’s still no sign of Slick anywhere. Even with Alphys and the entire Royal Guard helping, no one has been able to find a single trace or clue to where Slick disappeared to. Crim has been teleporting around to the places only he can find, places he knows Slick might have gone, but even he hasn’t been able to find any sign of him. It’s like he just disappeared into thin air.

It’s late night when they meet back up at the house. Alphys looks exhausted and so do the Guards walking in behind her and Blue. Blue looks even worse off than Alphys, like he’s gone through the scolding of his life. Crim don’t know what to think about it, but counts himself lucky that he hasn’t gotten an earful - yet. He’s not sure he would have been able to keep himself in check with all the worry for Slick he’s carrying around too. Alphys barely even looks at Blue when he walks past her and straight to the kitchen.

“Nothing?” Crim asks her, voice hoarse from hours of calling Slick’s name. She shakes her head.

“I sent teams to all corners of Snowdin and Waterfall, even checked Hotlands, but there’s nothing. No signs of him anywhere and no one has seen him in the last two days, except when he broke up the fight between you and Sans and when he later tried to find you.” She sighs deeply, rubbing a hand over her neck and cheek, like she’s sore all over. “We’ll continue the search tomorrow, but we’re all exhausted and I can’t send my guys out in good conscience tonight. There’s a storm rolling in.”

“We can’t just leave him out there!” Crim protests, horrified.

“And I can’t let anyone get hurt because of him either,” Alphys says sternly, obviously clamping down on her composure. “I don’t like it either, but I have to think about my men too. Papyrus decided to leave on his own, and if he’s lying blackout drunk somewhere, where no one can find him, I can’t fucking help him! I’ve searched all bars and shops that sell alcohol in the distance he can travel on foot in one day and even gone beyond that and there’s nothing. No one has seen him. Not even the Riverperson. If there had been _anything_ , just the tiniest hint as to where he is, I would gladly send the entire Guard after him, but we have _no idea_. I’m not risking the lives of others when we don’t have anywhere to search.”

She sighs again as she spreads her arms out in an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry Crim, but he’ll just have to hang on until tomorrow.” She looks towards the kitchen, but doesn’t make any effort to say anything to Blue, who’s hiding in there. Instead she just shakes her head before she turns around, guiding the Guards behind her out the door again.

“I’ll be back early in the morning and we’ll continue the search,” she tells him over her shoulder. “Try getting something to eat and some sleep.” After that she closes the door behind her, leaving them alone in the house.

Crim stays in the living room, feet rooted to the spot and hands clenched into tight fists. His anger is boiling over and he’s shaking violently, his teeth grinding against each other.

“Fuck!” he finally snaps as he kicks the coffee table hard enough to knock it over. He wants to kick every single piece of furniture in the room, wants to destroy everything in his vicinity, but he reigns in his anger. Letting it out on the room won’t help him find Slick and it won’t make the strangling worry twisting like a knife in his gut go away.

He stands there and squeezes his eyes together, trying to just breathe slowly through the fear bubbling up in his chest. He’s scared, _so fucking scared_ and it’s all his damn fault. If he had just _talked_ to him, just thought about Slick for a split second instead of feeling so damn sorry for himself, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

“Muffet left us food in the kitchen.” Blue’s voice is barely audible.

“I’m not hungry,” Crim responds. The growl from his stomach cuts through his lie easily, but both of them ignore it. Big, wet droplets drip from Crim’s sockets and he doesn’t even care that Blue sees him cry. He can’t find the strength to wipe them away. Right now he couldn’t care less about what the other skeleton thinks of him. He just wants to know if Slick is even still alive.

“I’m sorry,” Blue says, his voice breaking. He’s crying too. “For what I did. If I hadn’t been s-so jealous of you and tried to ruin it between you two, he wouldn’t have left.”

“Ain’t your fault I’m an idiot, pipsqueak,” Crim tells him. “I should have used my damn head and just…” But he didn’t. He didn’t just _think_ instead of reacting and now Slick is gone and possibly in danger. Maybe he’s already dead, dusted in some corner of the Underground. Maybe he died alone, still thinking Crim hates him. That thought is almost too much to bear.

He covers his sockets with a hand when he starts crying harder. What if he actually killed him because he was too busy throwing himself a pity party? How is he ever going to forgive himself for that?

Arms suddenly wrap around Crim’s upper body and he feels Blue behind him, his chest pressing up against Crim’s back. Blue is hesitant, that much is obvious, but he still squeezes Crim gently, offering him comfort in the form of a hug. Even if Crim wasn’t too exhausted to expend the effort to push him away, he would never admit that the feeling of closeness - even if it wasn’t Slick - was something he very much needed right now.

“He’s not gone yet,” Blue mumbles into the back of the hoodie Crim stole from Slick’s closet earlier. He’d needed a change of clothes after accidentally teleporting straight into a pool of water that didn’t exist in his world. Wearing Slick’s hoodie and being able to smell his scent in the fabric - that slightly washed out fragrance of cigarette smoke and muskiness - helped Crim stay calm even after the exhaustion of his many teleports started gnawing at his soul.

“How would you know?” Crim asks, voice filled with bitterness in the face of Blue’s fake hope.

“I’d be able to feel it,” Blue answers behind a sniffle. “Inside. Because of what I did to save him last time. It’s not much, but… I had to give him some of my HP. It’s still mine, even if it’s in him now, sort of. I’m pretty sure I would have felt it if he died.”

“Who told you that crap?” Crim says. He’s never heard anything like that before. He and his own brother never had a connection like that, despite the many times they’ve saved each other that way.

“Gerson,” Blue answers easily. “He’s a doctor. He knows.”

“Huh.” Okay, if it’s coming from Gerson, maybe there _is_ some truth to it. And hell, even if Blue is spouting some bullshit, it doesn’t matter. He needs to believe that Slick is still out there, somewhere.

“You can let go now,” Crim tells Blue. “I’m not gonna break.” He dries his face with a sleeve, feeling a bit better. There’s still hope and he can’t give up.

“I don’t want to,” Blue admits quietly. It just makes Crim sigh. He should have known the hug wasn’t just for his benefit.

“Can we at least move to the couch then?” he asks. “I’m about ready to pass out. Spent too much magic today.” Blue lets go of him and follows him to the couch. After Crim makes himself comfortable against the armrest, legs curled up under himself, he opens his arms. Blue accepts the invitation instantly, crawling into Crim’s embrace and fitting himself easily up against Crim’s side. Within seconds Crim is wrapped up in another tight hug, and for some reason he’s okay with it.

He doesn’t say anything when he hears the soft sobs coming from Blue. He just lets him cry, Crim’s arms wrapped loosely around him. Some part of him still wants to snap Blue’s neck, but it’s surprisingly easy to push that desire away for now. Every time he thinks about what happened yesterday, Slick’s face appears in his mind, silencing it.

He’s doing it for him, Crim decides. Comforting Blue isn’t because he wants to, but because he knows Slick would appreciate him taking care of his brother. It’s not like it’s going to kill Crim either. It’s just a hug. He’ll survive that.

Minutes tick by as they sit on the couch, arms still wrapped around each other. Crim’s mind is steadily growing quieter and quieter as he grows more and more tired. He doesn’t want to give in to it quite yet, doesn’t feel ready to sleep or even like he deserves it when Slick is still missing.

After almost an hour, Blue breaks the silence. Crim thought he’d fallen asleep after he stopped crying, so the sound of his voice over the building wind outside is jarring.

“What is he like? Your brother?” He says it quietly, wet face still pressed into Crim’s shoulder. He tenses ever so slightly beneath Blue’s desperate hug, and his arm around the other’s back shifts downward an inch. He’d push Blue away if he could, but he just can’t seem to summon the strength to do it.

Unable to get away, Crim responds with silence as the words run laps around the inside of his skull. He doesn’t know how to answer that question, and the fact that he’s considering it at all takes him by surprise. He feels the old reluctance to even think about his brother emerge as soon as the words leave Blue. He clears his throat thickly, breathing slowly like somehow that can help him pretend that he’s not two wrong moments from losing the last of his paper-thin composure. His only reassurance is that he knows Blue isn’t doing much better than he is: They’re practically holding each other up on the couch, both too anxious to rest but also too tired to move.

As the seconds tick by without anything else forthcoming, Blue’s whole being seems to sag; he’s heavier on Crim’s chest somehow with a sort of disappointment, as if that one question had been some kind of bizarre, unaccepted apology. It bothers him, and yet Crim doesn’t understand why Blue expected anything else to happen after everything, honestly. The guy doesn’t deserve an answer, much less anything else from him, and yet…

And yet, here they are, together, communing over Slick’s disappearance in the aftermath of the both of them having fucked up in spectacular ways. They’re both suffering, and to Crim, contributing to that in any way feels like kicking Blue while he’s already worn down.

As if in response to his thoughts, Blue slowly nuzzles into the soft fabric of the loaned hoodie and partially muffles a sniffle. The action causes an uncomfortable roil in his gut which has nothing to do with hunger, and he swallows a second time to clear his nonexistent throat. After another moment of hesitation, a few words come to him.

“My bro’s a great guy,” Crim says perhaps two minutes after, his voice thick and raspy. The words make Blue perk up a bit, and he turns part of one cheek into the hoodie. One huge, blurry eyelight tries to train itself up to Crim’s face.

“He uh,” Crim continues, mumbling his words a little, “he kept everything together for us when it kept tryin’ t’go ta shit. Every day he was workin’ t’that end.” It’s easy for him to hear the pride in his own voice, even over the grating exhaustion. Blue seems to notice it too and he smiles softly. All Crim can do is continue. “Never crossed his mind to stop, and every time I thought about it, he’d be right there to kick my ass back in line. It’s stupid to tell him he can’t do somethin’, either,” he says, and then swallows. “Stubborn ass, he’d try harder just ta spite ya. He never grew outta that.”

Blue’s expression changes and his smile disappears. “You’re the older brother,” he murmurs quietly in some sort of realization.

Crim’s laughter is hoarse and almost sounds like he’s choking. “That didn’t matter. Even when he was a babybones, he was still the boss. He didn’t take shit from anyone - especially _me_. He always knew what he wanted and damn anyone who told him otherwise. But he,” Crim pauses briefly after his voice accidentally slips on the word. “He always had my back, ya know? We were a... a team. Sure, we’d give each other shit sometimes, but at the end of the day we uh, we always... looked out for each other.”

Blue tightens his hug a fraction as Crim lapses into a silence punctuated by shaky breaths. It’s like he knows from his own experience that Crim is trying his best to hold back tears. “He sounds like a really cool brother,” Blue says gently.

That does it.

It’s as if a dam has finally crumbled. Crim makes a strangled noise as the first gasping sob escapes him. “He is,” he manages breathlessly before he shudders into the next. “He is,” he repeats, and he can _hear_ the tears falling in fat drops on Blue’s shoulders, pattering into the soft grey of his shirt. Crim has the palm of one hand pressed to an eye in a futile attempt to staunch the flow. As he hunches forward, Blue pulls back and adjusts the hug so he can rub gentle circles around Crim’s shoulderblades with the palm of his hand, all the while maintaining the mutual scaffolding holding them both upright.

Blue sniffs quietly, like he’s holding back another round of tears. “We’ll see them again,” he says with an absolute confidence probably born of blind, reckless hope. “They love us and we love them, so we’ll never stop looking.”

_Never_ , Crim repeats in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you guys loved that cliffhanger. How about more cliffhanger? XD


	22. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I bet everyone was wondering what happened to Slick... well, here's your answer! Thanks for continuing to read and leave comments guys. :>
> 
> As always, we're very approachable and love people screaming at us! Hit us up at our Tumblrs for author interaction, post updates, and extra content:
> 
> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~

## ~ Chapter Twenty-Two ~  
Pieces

_“If my yesterday is a disgrace_  
_Please let me know you recall my name"_

_"Cactus in the Valley"_ by Lights

  

Crim isn’t aware that he has fallen asleep until he’s in the middle of waking up. There’s a loud, harsh  _ crash _ and at first Crim isn’t sure if it’s real or a product of his flimsy, quickly dissolving dreams. When another, quieter one sounds only moments later and it’s followed by a mumbled curse, he decides that whatever it is, it’s definitely real enough to wake up for. 

It’s a struggle. His uneasy rest has left him feeling more exhausted than he did before he fell asleep and it feels like he has to drag himself back to consciousness. Waking up after having barely slept in the first place is disorienting and he hates it. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he doesn’t feel like he has slept more than a few hours.

The first thing he notices when he finally manages to persuade his sockets to crack open is that the cave has barely begun to brighten outside the house. A lingering darkness still haunts the small part of the street visible to him through a window, and he can just barely discern that it’s still too early for GD and LD to have fixed the street lights. It leaves the room in almost complete darkness and it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust to it. 

His limbs are still heavy with sleep and resist his will to move. At first it confuses him, but he realizes after a few seconds that there’s another reason too: He’s pinned under Blue’s deadweight. Something gets knocked over and he hears a quiet “whooops”. Only after that does the monster on top of him finally start awake. It makes the whole process of waking up even more confusing for Crim, as he has to remember how the hell he managed to end up being Blue’s pillow.

He’s shaking himself in an attempt to wake himself up faster when he becomes aware of the shrill sounds of the storm outside and the chill entering the room. Blue moves off him, allowing him to sit up and turn his blurry vision towards the front door and the source of all the noise. The door handle knocks against the wall repeatedly - and he registers for a moment that that must have been the sound that woke him up - but the figure in front of it makes no move to close it, nor to pick up the small table and the scattered knick knacks on the floor that had once adorned it. Instead, the nearly unrecognizable figure sways where he stands, a goofy grin on his face and a hand lifted in a wave. 

It takes Crim a long moment to process what he’s seeing, but it seems like Blue doesn’t. “Papy!!” Blue exclaims when the realization sets in. He’s up from the couch a second later, throw pillows and blankets flying in every direction. 

“Brooo,” comes a very familiar voice, followed by an unsettling giggle. It takes Crim a moment longer before the recognition kicks his mind into gear and he realizes  _ it’s fucking Slick _ . 

He feels like he’s about to fall apart when he too throws himself off of the couch. Every joint in his body is protesting the movement, screaming at him to sit back down, but he pushes through the pain to stumble after Blue. Blue is already at the door, in the middle of closing it since the idiot in front of it can’t seem to be bothered to do it. 

Crim is by no means a perfect picture when he comes to a full stop in front of Slick. His clothes are wrinkled and dirty, he probably has dark circles under his sockets and he wouldn’t be surprised if he looked like something a Moldsmal had puked up. But the sight he’s met with when he looks Slick up and down is much, much worse. The other looks like he’s been dragged through the muddy river bed before being dumped on the front step. His clothes are covered in spots and dirt. He isn’t wearing any jacket and his hoodie is dripping wet, one sleeve is covered in ash and cigarette burn holes. Here, standing close enough to touch him, Crim catches a familiar, rank scent native to the Waterfall tidepools and suddenly he can imagine what all the tiny particles of dirt on Slick are: algae. It’s almost outdone, however, by a matching reek of heavy, thick liquor and the common stink of filth, completing what must be the most pathetic sight Crim has ever seen in his life. 

Slick is standing unsteadily, one shoulder leaning against the wall for support and still he’s somehow swaying from side to side as he tries to focus on Crim. It’s hard to tell if he succeeds because his eyelights are so dim.

“Heeeey gorjus,” he slurs. “You still mad?” 

The elaborate wink of an eye sends Crim into a fit. His fist shoots into the air by itself, fueled by the white-hot anger exploding in his chest at Slick’s uncaring, eerie grin. He fully intends to punch Slick right in the face, but Blue blocks his path and wraps him up in surprisingly strong arms. He’s pulled a few steps away before his fist can reach its target, and no amount of furious struggling seems to help him get free. 

_ “You sonofabitch!” _ Crim shouts at Slick instead when he’s unable to escape the arms holding him hostage. Slick’s grin barely slips but Crim catches the flash of worry crossing his features. “Where the  _ hell _ have you been?!”

“Out,” is all Slick says.  _ Finally _ the smile slips off of his face. An exhausted expression takes it place as Slick re-adjusts himself against the wall. 

“We spent all day and night looking for your sorry ass!” Crim snaps. He pushes at the arms still holding him to the spot but Blue refuses to let go. “Let go of me!!” 

“Promise you won’t hit him and I will!” Blue answers.

“Just fucking let me go!” It’s reluctant, Crim can feel that much, but Blue releases him. The second he’s free Crim heads straight for Slick, grabbing a few fistsfuls of his hoodie and slams him against the wall. He sees Blue start to move in again, hands poised to grab him, but when Crim does nothing else, he stays out of it. Crim still feels his gaze heavy on his back though. 

“We thought you were fucking  _ dead!” _ Crim shouts, shaking Slick. Impossibly, Slick’s grin returns, though this time it’s barely a ghost of the uncaring one he had before. This one is cold and detached - just a mask.

“Awwwwwhah, hun, don’t worry about lil’ old me. I’m riiight here,” Slick tells him. He places his hands on top of the ones Crim still has fisted in his hoodie, but the touch is too soft, too caring, _ too comfortable  _ and Crim rips away from it, feeling it burn. Slick doesn’t get to touch him like nothing has happened, like he hasn’t put them through hell and back.

“You fucking asshole,” Crim mutters. “You really don’t fucking care do ya?” There’s no reaction from Slick and Crim spins around, turning his back on him, hands grabbing at his head. He takes a few steps away to clear his head, afraid he really  _ will _ punch him if he doesn’t. The last thing he wants to do is dust Slick now that he’s finally back, but Stars, it’s so  _ tempting _ to just let go of the rage he feels brewing in his chest.

“Have you been teleporting?” Blue asks, taking the heat for a moment. Crim uses the moment Slick’s heavy gaze isn’t on him to rub his hands over his face and take a few deep breaths before turning back around. He finds Blue in his spot in front of Slick, hands clenched into fists. It mollifies him a little that he’s not the  _ only _ one pissed at Slick’s reckless bullshit. “Papy, you promised, you  _ promised _ not to do this again! You know how dangerous it is for you to-” 

“Nevermind what he ‘promised,’” Crim says, jerking a hand to the side to wave away whatever sacred agreement they had, cutting off Blue and whatever pathetic excuse Slick was in the middle of cooking up. “Point is he fucking did it, end of story.” 

“He could have  _ died!” _ Blue says, hands in the air as he turns to Crim.

“I fucking know that! Try making that idiot understand that’s a  _ bad _ thing,” Crim says, gesturing angrily at Slick. “Because he obviously doesn’t give a shit about what I have to say!”

Slick tries to step away from the wall, but has to steady himself with a hand against it to stay upright. “S’not like you gave me much choice-” he slurs, voice clearly dipping into angry tones as well.

“‘Much choice?!’” Crim snaps, cutting him off. He is  _ not  _ going to allow Slick to just wipe this mess off on him, like it’s all his fault! “Fuck your much choice! What the hell is that even supposed to mean?!”

“You just-” Slick says, pointing a finger at Crim before waving it at the door, “shhhoved off and wouldn’t let me explain!”

“I was angry!!”   


“So’s I!” Slick says.

“And that justifies  _ this?!” _ Crim shouts. “Playing Russian roulette with your life? Leaving us to worry ourselves half to death when you didn’t come home after the storm picked up?” Something hot and burning flares up in his chest. “We thought you fucking died!” he repeats as a reminder.

“So’s what if I had?” He coughs out a dry laugh, half insanity, half mockery. “S’not like you care!”

“You  _ bastard _ -”

“Crim,  _ stop!” _ Blue interrupts, pushing him back and interposing himself between the two of them. Crim hadn’t even noticed how close he had gotten to Slick, how his hands had been raised, ready to grab him again. The desire to just  _ shake _ Slick until whatever fucked up shit is in his head rattles out the other side is so overpowering that Crim can feel his entire body tremble with the need to do it.

“Are you just going to let him get away with this?!” Crim turns to the shorter skeleton blocking his path, gesturing at Slick. “He just gets a free pass, is that how it works? No matter what he fucking does you’re just gonna protect him?”   


“No, of course not, but  _ Crim _ , just  _ look _ at him!” Blue defends himself. Whatever warmth had been in his voice before they fell asleep is long gone, replaced with the icy coldness Crim has gotten so used to. There’s a hardness to Blue’s words, a frustration bleeding through them. “Whatever we say right now won’t do any good. He probably won’t even remember it! For now, you  _ need _ to  _ let it go _ !” He hates to do anything Blue tells him to, hates the logic in his words, but this time, he listens. He lets his gaze flick back to Slick and tries to just  _ see _ without feeling. 

Slick is barely able to stand by himself, still using the wall to hold him up. At first Crim sees nothing but the tensed expression on his face, but then their eyes meet and it’s like the mask splinters right there in front of his eyes. There’s a massive  _ hurt _ flowing through every line of his face, filling Slick’s eyes with desperation. 

Crim knows he should feel  _ something _ at the sight. Guilt, or maybe regret that he made Slick hurt enough to do this shit, but Crim refuses to be the bad guy all the damn time. It’s not his fault!  _ He _ was hurt too and  _ he _ didn’t run off on some alcoholic rampage just because Slick broke his heart. It’s not his fault Slick went on a binge; Crim never wanted  _ this _ . All he wanted was just time alone to think and lick his wounds.

And look at them now. Crim doesn’t know what to do or what to say. Both of them are broken and vulnerable. Both of them are hurting and Crim  _ doesn’t know what to do about it _ . He doesn’t know how to be the bigger guy, how to reach out and offer forgiveness. 

A heavy sigh from Slick pulls at Crim attention. “Look,” Slick says, deflating. He suddenly sounds way too tired. “I’m like the worst boyfriend ever, but I-” He brings both hands to the front of his chest in a gesture, removing most of his support against the wall. Crim sees it almost before it’s happening, but it still happens so fast it’s a miracle he even has time to react. Slick loses his balance and starts to fall. Blue must have seen the panic on his face, because there’s no move to stop him from swooping in to catch Slick before he can crack his skull open on the ground.

“You fucking idiot,” Crim grunts, having to hold up Slick’s full bodyweight now that the wall is no longer an option. He can feel the water from the other’s clothes slowly start to soak through his own mere moments after he catches him. The heavy odor of liquor, filth, rotting algae and cigarettes is even more potent this close and the resulting vile stench almost makes Crim gag.

“Sorry, I was just...” It seems like the other finds comfort in Crim’s closeness, because he no longer puts in any effort to hold himself up. There’s a lazy nuzzle against Crim’s shoulder, and he can practically feel how the strength drains out of Slick’s body when he sighs deeply. His movements get more and more sluggish, as does his speech until he finally passes out in Crim’s arms, mumbling nonsense words. 

When he sees his brother suddenly slump over, Blue reacts. “Papy!” he exclaims as he jumps forward, hands reaching out to grab at Slick’s face. He lifts it from Crim’s shoulder and claps his cheeks softly and calls his name, but gets no reaction. Slick remains unconscious. 

“We- we have to get him to his bed,” Blue stutters as he stands up, trying to lift Slick’s body out of Crim’s arms. 

“I got it,” Crim says. It takes some maneuvering, but he manages to move Slick around so he can get an arm under his knees. With the other secured around Slick’s back, Crim can lift him off the ground with some effort. “Grab hold of me,” Crim tells Blue, his only warning. The second Blue grabs his forearm Crim pulls all three of them through a teleport. 

The pain explodes in his head before they’ve even appeared in Slick’s dark bedroom. A series of sharp, piercing stabs cut through his skull and it takes everything he’s got not to just dump Slick on the floor. Instead, he takes care in shifting Slick’s weight into Blue’s already waiting arms, making sure to safely transfer him before he breaks under the pain. He grabs at his head and clenches his teeth with a deep groan, back hitting a wall and almost falling to his knees. His soul is punishing him for his carelessness, no doubt a warning that he’s dangerously close to being dry of natural magic. He could dig into the magic stored on his body if he wanted, but the amount of concentration that would take seems like too much effort at the moment. 

It takes a few minutes before Crim can open his eyes again. The pain slowly disappears, but as a parting gift he receives a dull ache right behind his forehead that refuses to leave no matter how much Crim rubs it. Once he’s not about to fall over, Crim looks up to find Blue already in the middle of gently lowering Slick onto his bed, now dressed in a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants. The lump of dirty clothes on the floor is leaking water, but Blue seems too preoccupied with tucking Slick in to notice. 

Crim takes the clothes and brings them to the bathroom. They get dumped in the hamper without much thought - at least in there the water can’t run all over the floor. He drags his own now slightly damp hoodie over his head too and doesn’t bother to go to his room to grab a new one, settling with just wearing his t-shirt for now. He doesn’t want to be away from Slick anymore than he has to, now that he’s finally home. Just the thought of it makes something ugly twist in his chest.

He can’t have been gone for much more than a couple of minutes, because when he comes back, it’s to Blue holding magic-lit hands over Slick’s chest. There’s a soft inhale of air followed by a deep, relieved sigh. 

“Oh thank the Stars,” Blue mumbles to himself. 

It’s clear that Blue hadn’t heard him return yet when Crim announces his presence with a gruff “What?” and Blue rips his hands away from Slick’s chest with a start. His forehead wrinkles when he realizes it’s just Crim, but he attempts a strained smile nonetheless. 

He looks back at Slick before he says, “He’s unstable but it doesn’t seem like the strain from his teleports is going to a problem. Not yet, anyway.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Crim bites at him with more force than is probably necessary, but damn it, he’s tired and frustrated and now this asshole is telling him that Slick isn’t in danger -  _ yet?! _ Blue fucking  _ Read _ him and he still can’t give Crim a straight answer?

“That he won’t dust right this second!” Blue throws back with the same volume. “It means I don’t have to give him a magic transfusion because it seems like his soul is able to handle the strain!  _ It means _ …” Blue cuts himself off with a small growl and forces himself to take a deep breath, glancing away from Crim. After a couple of seconds he continues in a calmer voice. “It means he’s probably going to be fine. It’s not dangerous.  _ Yet. _ ”

There’s a beat of silence between the two of them, and Crim utilizes it by walking over and claiming the side of the bed across from Blue. “If you’re trying to be comforting, you’re doing a shit job,” Crim tells him.

Either his encroachment or his words seem strike a chord with the other skeleton, causing Blue to visibly tense up. “What do you want me to do?!” he snaps in response, gesturing fiercely at himself and then at Slick. “I’m not a doctor, I can’t predict this! All I know comes from previous experience and all I can say is that he’s not in the danger zone.  _ Yet!” _

“FINE!” Crim responds, unable to come up with anything better at the moment. Deep down he knows he’s asking the impossible of Blue - hell,  _ he _ wouldn’t know how to keep Slick safe if he had been alone here, but he’s not about to be intimidated into leaving by Blue’s hostility, either.

He remembers when Slick had gotten sick before, how Blue had driven him off each time he’d gotten remotely close, and how he’d just let it happen until he’d just stopped trying because it had been the easy way. Because it hadn’t been his problem, and Blue seemed to know what he was doing. He could write it off and leave it up to someone else’s certainty that Slick would eventually wake up and continue to smile and make his stupid jokes.

He can’t do that anymore.

“Fine!” Blue parrots back at him with matching venom, glaring back defiance with white, drained eyelights and a set jaw for a few seconds until he finally deflates, looking more exhausted than Crim has seen him in a very long time. The shorter skeleton’s eyelights pan back to Slick.

“I’m doing the best I can,” Blue says with quiet resignation. He doesn’t say anything else, but Crim can easily see the aggression bleed out of him in the way his shoulders slump and how his hands tenderly wrap around one of Slick’s.

A certain silence begins to permeate the room, but Crim lets it stretch on, focusing on the soft sound of Slick’s breathing between them to dull the throb of the headache behind his eyelights. What can he even say to that? He knows they’re both in the same boat: They’re worried, they’re tired, they’re  _ scared _ out of their  _ minds _ , but Blue is nothing if not devoted to his brother, and he’s been through this before.

Crim’s eyelights go hazy, and they sit in the quiet for an indeterminable amount of minutes before Blue eventually clears his throat. “I’m, um,” he says, and then hesitates as Crim looks up at him. “I’ll go make some tea for us. Please stay with him.” 

He leans over Slick, placing a protective hand on his shoulder and looking Blue dead on in his eyelights. “You’re fuckin’ nuts if you think anything can get me out of this room right now,” Crim states, completely and utterly serious.

Blue seems to take it face value as a challenge, squaring up his shoulders. The other’s white eyelights seem to flash a ghost of his earlier anger, and Crim holds that gaze, all of the intensity and uncertainty of the last 48 hours manifesting as an immovable bulwark in the face of Blue’s displeasure. He is completely out of fucks to give, and he’s not about to buckle to whatever reserve of antagonism Blue has left.

He braces for it.

He expects the barbed lash of Blue’s tongue, the threat of being removed, or at least one of the usual petty cuts at his cursing, but the sound that comes from the other’s tense form and parted teeth is a heavy, wordless sigh.

“Good,” Blue says curtly as he stands, turning his back on both of them and walking out, leaving Slick to sleep, and Crim to stare after him in blank confusion.

* * *

They’re coming for him. 

The staccato of footsteps behind him and the whistle and crack of stray magic in the air drives him forward. His boots slog in the rushing water, the current threatening to drag him with it, but he shoulders through, hoping that it will put distance between him and his pursuers. He’s too tired to ‘port, too tired to fight, but he feels their presence at his back like daggers boring into bone. They’re  _ right there,  _ their movements grey blurs at the edges of his vision. He has to keep running or he’s done for, but he’s slowly feeling the exhaustion creep through his body, wrapping tightly around it and making his limbs shake.

Running on fumes at the end of the long chase, the rush of the water gives way to the telltale roaring of the falls. The dark shapes of his pursuers are encircling him with a predator’s cocky swagger at the dead end - all rivers in Waterfall lead to the abyss, one way or another. The shadows advance, caging him in, herding him to the edge of the falls like some kind of animal. Their awful jeering echoes around him, bouncing off the walls, the ceiling. It’s a reverberating cacophony of malicious intent and murderous joy; they're excited, ecstatic - they’re  _ enjoying _ this. 

No matter what he does or where he goes, he finds himself still standing on the edge, boots filling, the current tugging at his clothes, his bones. Suddenly it’s the only thing he can see, dominating his vision when he trails the current into the black beyond. He feels the sickening, siren pull again, just like he did that day with Slick: The emptiness below him reaching out towards him with inviting arms, beckoning him towards a darkness that promises no end.

He swallows thickly when he hears whooping cheers and dozens of boots coming to a halt right behind him. He feels the metaphorical hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge when he realizes what his pursuers must have too: He has nowhere to run. He’s trapped.

The taunts and threats close in on him until he can feel breath on the back of his neck. It’s too fast, too soon and he’s panicking, but there’s no time. There’s a sharp pain in his back and then, just like that, he’s over the edge. He feels his stomach drop as he falls, hearing his pursuit laughing above him over the deafening thunder of the water. In a panic, he reaches for magic that doesn’t respond, and he falls, and falls...

And falls...

He awakens with a startle and a sharp inhalation. Groggy and disoriented, his eyelights fly around the room, catching shapes of familiar furniture through the blurred mess of his vision. There’s a sickly taste in the back of his throat, leaving a fuzzy feeling in his mouth. He quietly grunts a curse at himself for forgetting to brush his teeth, but the moment he tries to shift, all his griping immediately goes towards the awful pain in his back. He doesn’t remember when he ended up on the floor, but as it turns out, falling asleep while leaning against the side of a bed is a bad idea.

Remembering where he is kickstarts other memories: Slick disappearing, searching for him, Slick coming home. Faced with the equally foggy but disturbingly fresh images from his dream, Crim turns around quickly, a fear grabbing hold of his soul, but it’s squashed under his relief when he finds Slick sleeping peacefully right behind him, chest slowly rising and falling with quiet breaths. As he sits up, a blanket he doesn’t remember fetching falls off of his shoulders and pools around him.

“He’s okay.” Blue says before Crim even thinks to open his mouth. Peering a bit blearily over Slick, he can see that the other skeleton is sitting on a chair at the opposite end of the bed, his feet resting on the edge and lap full of some colorful cloth that he’s in the middle of sewing together. Blue doesn’t even bother looking up from his work, continuing to drive the little needle through the fabric in an endless cycle of even, fluid movements. The sound of the needle spearing through the fabric and the following thread tightening into place is oddly loud in the otherwise quiet room.

There’s something off about him that Crim can’t put his finger on at first, but after another moment of inspection, he figures it out. There’s a greyish tint to Blue’s face and his movements lack the usual energy he is so used to seeing. His fingers are moving almost mechanically, and his white eyelights are a bit unfocused. Despite the obvious exhaustion, Blue holds himself stubbornly upright on the chair, although his shoulders do fall when Crim continues to stare at him. He glances up briefly, only to roll his eyelights at Crim. “I checked on him an hour ago. He’s still safe,” he says, probably misunderstanding the reason for Crim’s prolonged interest.

“Checked on him,” Crim repeats in a gritty mumble, voice still shot from all the shouting he’d done yesterday. He runs a hand over his face before he shakes his head. He finally looks away, focusing back at Slick. He’s still fast asleep and something in Crim’s chest softens a bit at the sight of his sleep-slack face.

“ _ Yes _ , I Judged him,” Blue says tiredly. “Can we not argue about it?” 

“Wasn’t gonna say nothin’,” Crim tells him honestly.

“Ahuh.” Crim doesn’t respond, too tired to bother, and they fall back into a tense silence after he turns back around to rest his back against the bed again. 

For a few long moments, Crim’s head is blissfully empty as he sits there, staring at the messy desk on the other side of the room. He knows he should probably be swamped with a thousand different emotions right about now, but there’s nothing besides exhaustion. He pushed himself too far and now he’s suffering the consequences. 

He thinks about Slick, about their situation and what to do when the other wakes up. He doesn’t use the word “if”, only “when”, because he  _ will _ wake up. The prospect of Slick never waking up is too horrible for him to deal with. He simply doesn’t know what to do with the sense of panic he feels building at the thought and therefore he refuses to think it. He hates how useless he feels. He can’t do anything but sit here and wait for Slick to open his eyes and he’s never quite felt as helpless as he does right now.

But what happens when Slick does wake up? Crim imagines multiple scenarios. Some part of him wants to continue shouting. That part of him wants Slick to  _ hurt _ like Crim has. It’s a nasty feeling and Crim’s only a little ashamed at how  _ powerful _ it seems. He’s only comforted by the fact that the other part of him is just as powerful as the first; the other part of him that wants to just gather Slick in a hug and never let go again. It wants him to comfort and protect and make sure that  _ nothing _ , not even himself, can make Slick hurt like he did yesterday. It’s a confusing mix of feelings and the more he tries to think about it, the less he manages to understand his own emotions on the subject. 

Instead of linger on it, Crim turns his attention back to Blue, who’s still working on the cloth in his hands. Crim can see small patterns on the surface now, embroidered onto it. He can’t really see if there’s any meaning to the pattern from this distance, but in the sanctuary and quiet of his own mind, he admits to himself that it looks kind of nice. 

Blue sighs deeply before he looks up at him, probably once again provoked by Crim’s attention. “What do you want?” he asks, words sharp as they fly through the air.

“You should sleep.” That is not at all what he had expected to come out of his mouth in response, and Crim feels about as surprised as Blue looks. The words are soft, bordering on caring, and he has no idea where they came from. He hadn’t meant to say anything at all. But Blue looks absolutely haggard, the dark circles under his sockets in the process of getting their own dark circles. He looks like he’s about ready to pass out where he sits and yet, he refuses to sleep.

“I’ll sleep when he wakes up,” Blue dismisses his proposal before looking down at his work again. It’s not hard for Crim to see he’s struggling to keep his focus on the tiny needle as it disappears into the fabric. It’s only confirmed further when Blue pricks himself on it and lets out a small noise of pain before shaking the finger he hurt. 

“You’re beat,” Crim tries again. “You can take a break. I’ll stay awake an’ keep an eye on him.” 

“You don’t know what to look for in the Read,” Blue argues. 

“Don’t need t’Read him when ya just did,” Crim says, trying to hide the disgust he feels at the mere thought of invading Slick’s privacy like that without asking first. The first time had felt so personal, so intimate and just...  _ no _ . No, he won’t do that without Slick conscious and consenting. 

“What if he needs me?” 

“I’ll wake ya up.” When Blue opens his mouth to argue even more, Crim cuts him off. “Pal, you’re literally no good to him when you’re dead on your feet. What do ya figure will happen when he wakes up? Lots of talkin’, that’s what. If ya can’t stay awake it won’t really benefit any of us.” Besides, Crim would love to have a moment to himself where Blue’s presence isn’t constantly hovering over his shoulder.

Blue holds his gaze for a moment, slightly fuzzy eyelights steely as they bore into his. Crim watches his expression change, but it’s impossible for him to catch what the little guy is feeling. He switches between emotions so fast that Crim’s exhausted mind can’t keep up. 

“I’ll be in my room,” Blue finally says. “If  _ anything _ changes, you come get me, understood?” 

“Perfectly,” Crim responds with a strained, fake smile. He just wants him  _ gone _ . 

It takes Blue a minute to gather his things and he leaves after casting a final look at his sleeping brother. He doesn’t close the door, but leaves it cracked open just a little.

Having gotten his wish granted, Crim gets up from the floor and stretches to work some of the kinks out of his back. The chair Blue left behind gets dragged to the head of the bed and Crim sits down on it, settling in for a long wait. 

He tries to think about nothing at first, but as the minutes tick by, he realizes that “nothing” isn’t possible. There’s always the buzz of activity in his mind, even when it seems like his thoughts circle around nothing in particular. More often than not, Crim catches them lingering on Slick and everything that has happened during the last two days. It’s a mix of confusing and flippant emotions, shifting from euphoric joy to devastating pain within moments. 

Crim doesn’t want to admit that he was wrong or that he reacted badly, but after his talk with Muffet, he’s less and less able to feel that justified  _ hurt _ he felt when Slick chose Blue over him. In some way it pisses him off, because feeling hurt is a lot easier than feeling… whatever it is he’s feeling. He’s less confused about it now than he was before, but now most of the time everything pools together into that pale, indescribable nothingness he was feeling before. He knows he’s feeling  _ something _ , he just can’t put his finger on what it is and it’s  _ frustrating _ .

Everytime he thinks about Slick’s disappearance, there’s a dreadful lurch in his gut. Part of him still feels the worry, fear and pain from when he was missing, but the dominating emotion is a quiet but potent anger. 

“The hell were you thinkin’?” Crim whispers to Slick’s sleeping form, running a few fingers over his skull in a soft caress. There’s that part of him that wants to shake Slick awake and demand answers, but he clings to the other and keeps his touch light and comforting, fearing that anything else might hurt him. By the Stars, Crim is still so  _ angry _ at him for risking his life like that and making them worry, but what makes it more infuriating than anything is that he actually fucking gets it, however much he wishes he didn’t. He gets needing a timeout, an escape from his emotions, and alcohol had always worked for him, too. He knows it numbs the chaos and quiets the mind and Slick… Maybe he just needed to press the pause button for a while.

It doesn’t mean Crim forgives him for doing it. Fuck no. But Stars does it make Crim feel like shit, because it’s impossible not to think back on his own binges, the days  _ he _ disappeared because life was a little too much to handle. How many times had Papyrus stayed up waiting for him to come home just like Crim and Blue had just done? How many times had Crim just given him and his concerned anger the finger when he came home, because he didn’t want to rip open a wound he’d just forcibly closed by drinking? 

_ Too many times, that’s the answer. _ And Crim feels horrible realizing this, realizing that maybe, just maybe, Slick isn’t the only one with a problem. 

The bout of comprehension stings and Crim pushes it away, not ready to deal with the ramifications of it. It’s just too big and he just- he  _ can’t _ . Instead, he moves his eyelights to Slick’s face, just checking on him, but he’s completely unprepared to see Slick looking back.


	23. Brittle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah we really weren't done yet with that pain, hahah. Thank you again to our very lovely and wonderful readers and commentators! We so very much enjoy hearing from y'all.
> 
> Anywho, we're very approachable and we enjoy people giving us a hi-ho! Hit us up at our Tumblrs for author interaction, post updates, and extra content:
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> ~ _**[Shiv](http://shivra.tumblr.com/)** ~ ~ **[Mercy](https://mercyisnotasignofweakness.tumblr.com/)**_ ~

## ~ Chapter Twenty-Three ~  
Brittle

 

 _“We may shine, we may shatter,_  
 _We may be picking up the pieces here on after,_  
 _We are fragile, we are human,_  
 _And we are shaped by the light we let through us,_  
 _We break fast, cause we are glass."_  
   
[“ _Glass_ ” by Thompson Square](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPd1GIwjRFM)

 

Crim can't move. He sits frozen on the chair, unsure of what to do or say. He's hit by a sensation he can't quite place, a sort of out of body experience. It's so unreal, it feels like a dream. Slick’s eyelights are extremely dim, but it’s undeniable that the guy is most definitely awake, and yet Crim actually catches himself wishing that Slick is still sleeping and it's not really happening. He's been waiting for what felt like far too long for this to occur, and some distant part of himself - the pessimistic one - were convinced it would never happen. Now that it has... He's struck with a paralyzing sense of panic.

The pained expression Slick’s wearing - no doubt coming from the hangover he has - is a far cry from the peaceful exhaustion of a few minutes ago, and Crim knows him well enough now to recognize the edge of nervousness presently etching itself around the corners of his sockets. Crim knows he should probably say something, but for some reason his head is completely empty.

“You’re... here,” Slick croaks when the silence between them gets too loud, somehow sounding worse in two words than all of Crim’s morning grit combined. Maybe in another context he’d be sympathetic to Slick’s predicament, knowing very well how fucking awful the next day after a binge can be. But, as it is, the only two things he can really grab onto in his current reservoir of emotions are a perverse satisfaction in knowing that Slick is already suffering some kind of consequence for his actions, and a festering anger for what he’d recently been put through. _That_ , at least, comes easy to him, filling his head, chest and belly with a comforting heat. Anger is easy.

“Yeah.” His response is probably a little too clipped. He sees firsthand the way it makes Slick shrink back from his gaze. He wants to _strangle_ the part of him that instantly wants to kiss away that line of worry creeping over Slick’s forehead and he has to look away to keep himself from reaching out to the other. The anger is slipping from his grasp as easily as it slipped into him, something it has never done before.

He had half expected Slick to say something else, but there’s nothing coming from the guy. Instead, a tense silence stretches out between them, filling the void Crim feels opening between them with things left unsaid. He wants to say something, but he has no idea _what_ . Just like before, he struggles with figuring out his own thoughts and emotions and nothing but the grey sludge of exhaustion appears when he tries grabbing for something, _anything_ to use. He tries to reach for the anger, but it is suddenly out of his reach.

It gets too much and Crim needs an escape. He remembers Blue’s request and he clings to it immediately like a lifeline, hoping that having someone else here will help keep this suffocating quiet at bay. If there’s anything Blue is good for, it’s mindless chatter.

He sees Slick lift his head off the pillow when he suddenly stands from the chair. Slick’s mouth opens, but after a few seconds he closes it again when no words come out. A twisted expression takes over his face and Crim feels his soul sink lower to the floor when he sees _pain_ bleed into it.

“I’mma just get your bro,” he offers as an explanation, eyelights catching Slick’s for only a brief moment before he’s forced to look away again. He doesn’t wait for a response, but makes to move towards the door. He’s stopped before he can take a single step by a hand shooting out from under the covers and grabbing onto his arm. The grip is weak, but Crim allows it to keep him from moving anyway.

“Please don’t,” Slick begs, voice now less of a croak and more like sandpaper on metal.

“I promised," Crim says.

“I just- I just can’t… I can’t face him right now. Please?” There’s a rustle of fabric when Slick sits up and Crim turns his head to avoid catching his gaze. When he makes no move to pull away or offer some kind of response, Slick pulls on his arm gently. “Please,” he repeats softly, his voice now barely a whisper.

“What do you want me to do?” Crim asks helplessly, feeling lost.

Slick is quiet for a moment before he answers, dim eyelights pleading up at him. “Maybe… sit with me? Just a bit longer.”

A deep breath leaves him in a sigh before he forces himself to look back at Slick. The thought of sitting in silence and not knowing what to say or do is unappealing to him, but there’s something about how fragile Slick looks sitting there that makes Crim cave. As he settles back down, he tells himself that it’s not just because Slick asked him to. Blue could definitely use the sleep and Crim needs time to think of something to actually say.

But, as he continues to look Slick over and watches the guy struggle with a grateful smile before lying back down, there’s a new worry gnawing at his soul. Tall as he is, the nest of blankets Blue wrapped him in after he passed out makes it impossible to really tell where he starts and stops, creating an illusion of smallness and fragility.

“How are you feelin’?” he asks, thinking that it’s the best he can do without actually Reading Slick. “And don’t lie,” he adds a little dispassionately just as Slick opens his mouth. “Just give it as is.” Something about the way he says it seems to forestall whatever knee jerk response was about to roll off of Slick’s tongue. He keeps their eye contact for a couple of seconds before he swallows slowly and nods. He looks away before answering.

“I, um. I got a bad headache and I feel like throwing up,” he says.

“That’d be the hangover,” Crim says. He must have snapped a little, because Slick flinches back like he’s been hit. Noting that, Crim takes a bit more care in making sure his voice is softer when he speaks again. “I wanna know about your soul,” he says. “You almost bled yourself dry last night.”

“I’m weak,” Slick admits, “but I’m not that weak.” He catches Crim’s eyelights again before he continues. “I’m not going to Fall.” He says it like it’s some kind of reassurance, and for some reason it sounds to Crim like an unspoken version of one of Blue’s shitty ‘yets’.

He hates it.

When he’s quiet for a few seconds, he feels the texture of bone on bone on his hand, and he’s quick to snatch it out of reach of Slick’s fingers. He can’t deal with that right now, not when it feels like even that small amount of contact between them is piling on even more pressure atop his soul. The pained expression on Slick’s face is impossible to miss, and so is the resignation that swiftly follows.

“Please believe me when I say I’m okay,” he implores anyway. “Don’t worry about me.”

A swift snort leaves Crim before he can keep it to himself. “Yeah,” he responds, “that ain’t really an option.” He doesn’t elaborate, even though the expression on Slick’s face grows more confused.

Crim doesn’t know what to say after that, and so he just keeps staring at a spot on the bed right next to Slick’s shoulder, hoping that somehow the silence between them will swallow him up so he never has to say another word. Stars, he would rather be dealing with fucking Fink of all people, than sit here and wait for- for whatever it is that is going to happen. He just feels so uncomfortable, and having the added pressure of Slick finally being awake does nothing to hurry the process of figuring out what the hell to say to him.

When did everything become such a mess? It used to be so easy between them. Being with Slick felt as easy as breathing. Just a few mornings ago his chest was so full of happiness it felt like it might burst and he knows that if he tried, he would probably still be able to feel it. He craves that feeling, misses it. It’s almost like a physical pain, growing each second Slick isn’t in his arms. Despite sitting only feet apart, Crim misses him. Misses what they were and what they could have been. It feels like there’s an ocean between them now and Crim is drowning in its waters.

_He doesn’t know what to do._

“You have that look.” The distraction from his thoughts is welcome, though it comes quietly, almost as if Slick fears saying the words out loud.

“What look?” His response is gruff and far from subdued, its loudness startling Slick enough to make him jerk under the covers. Their eyelights meet again and he sees how Slick almost shrinks under the weight of his gaze, fleeing from it.

“The worried one,” is his answer, spoken in the same careful tone as before. It causes a flash of grief to penetrate Crim’s soul. He misses their easy going banter. There was a time where talking to Slick would be the only thing that could make his day better, that just hearing his voice would make his soul feel lighter. Now, all he feels is the heavy weight of everything that has happened and he wonders if they will ever get that lightness back. If they will ever be okay again.

“Uhuh,” he says in an inflectionless tone, unsure of what else to say. He decides to say nothing at all, choosing instead to turn their conversation to a more neutral, safe topic. “You need to eat somethin’,” he continues. When Slick makes an openly disgusted face, he knows that his tactic worked. “I mean it. You gotta keep up your strength, and if ya don’t want me to wake up your bro, you better make sure ya don’t zonk out on my watch.”

“Uh, I could really use a shower first, in that case,” Slick murmurs, eyelights finally hovering away from Crim to alight on the ceiling.

“Go grab one then. I can whip ya up somethin’ for when you’re done.” Slick stares at him for a while longer with that quiet complementation that usually means he is thinking hard on something. He’s probably waiting to see if Crim meant it, if he can somehow get out of doing anything, but Crim doesn't offer him any olive branches. He stares right back, face covered in what he hopes to be an unreadable expression and he waits for the moment he knows will come.

It comes in the form of a quiet sigh. Slick realizes that Crim isn’t going to give up on this.

Slick struggles a bit at first, but he manages to push himself out of the covers Blue had so tightly tucked around him. Crim is ready to catch him if he stumbles, but, despite being slow, Slick manages his way across the room without tripping over his own feet. Crim has his eyelights on the door even after Slick is long out of the room, rubbing at his sockets to will wakefulness back into his body. Crim doesn’t leave the chair until he hears water running in the room next to him.

Somehow he manages to get himself to the kitchen. It feels like almost no times goes by at all, but suddenly he finds himself standing in the kitchen, waffle iron hot and sizzling in front of him. There’s an almost full plate next to it, waffles stacked into a wobbly tower and Crim can’t really remember filling it.

He wastes some time trying to find a tray, trying to prolong the inevitable moment where he has to go back to that room and sit in uncomfortable silence again, but the second it’s in his hand he puts it back, deciding against it. He reaches for it, considers it again, but pulls his hand back when he finds himself wondering what Slick would think it meant, if he would see the tray as a peace offering, something nice a boyfriend would do, or if no tray would mean the opposite, that Crim is still angry at him and doesn’t forgive him? At the thought, he feels a tug of frustration as he stares at it with irritation-lined sockets like it has somehow personally offended him. It doesn’t fucking _matter_. It’s just food; there is nothing symbolic about a fucking tray!

Eventually he ends up putting the plate on the tray anyway, telling himself he did it for the sake of convenience. He almost doesn’t make the special tea, because some self-righteous, sadistic part of him tells him Slick deserves to deal with his self-inflicted headache. Of course, that feeling only lasts for the split-second his hand hesitates over the package when he reaches for it in the cupboard. It inevitably ends up on the tray as well, along with a container half-full of honey.

He notes that the shower isn’t running when he finally makes his ponderous way back upstairs. Upon sticking his foot in the crack in the door and pushing it to the side, he finds Slick sitting on top of his own rumpled sheets and hunched over a very needy furball meowing incessantly in his lap. The cat turns to look at Crim with a louder, almost accusing noise as he enters the room, and that’s when he realizes the miffed little creature _also_ hasn’t eaten yet today.

Slick looks up as well as Missy jumps off his lap to heckle Crim in his stead, and he has to be careful not to trip over the insistent body trying to weave between his feet on his way to set the tray down.

When Slick physically recoils from the scent of the waffles, Crim actually snorts. Too fucking bad. “Eat,” he orders, unimpressed. “If this ain’t touched by the time I get back, I’m wakin’ your bro up.”

He leaves Slick to his forlorn staring at the stack of waffles, Missy hot on his heels and still voicing her displeasure at the circumstances surrounding her current lack of food. It doesn’t take him long to satisfy her, and when he returns, both Slick and waffles on his lap are engaged in an apparent battle of wills. The torn-apart mess of sticky, yellow-orange paste shuttled around to different corners of the plate makes him frown as his eyelights settle on it, and Slick seems to take notice.

“I touched it,” he just says, but he at least has the wherewithal to seem sheepish about it. Crim notes that his voice sounds less like an extended record scratch, and he counts that as an improvement.

“I fuckin’ see that,” Crim says with a deadpan expression as he eschews his chair from earlier in favor of the floor beside it, choosing to lean against the piece of furniture instead. “Did ya even eat any of it?”

“Some?” Slick returns hesitantly, and the questioning tone of voice makes Crim think that it could be a lie, but he doesn’t intend to press the issue. It’s too much effort at the moment and he’s just _so_ not in the mood. At least the tea mug is fully drained and there’s a good chunk of the honey missing from its container. Crim just sighs, letting silence fill the room. It’s only broken by the occasional clink of metal on ceramic as Slick sticks his fork in the torn-apart mess unrecognizable as food.

A few minutes of quiet pass, and Crim starts zoning out while looking at part of the ceiling shortly before Slick speaks again.

“Are we going to talk what happened?” he asks quietly. The hesitant question sparks an ache in Crim’s chest. Just thinking about talking makes him feel hollow inside. He doesn’t know where to even start thinking about what to say. It’s just too much at once, too many things to sort through and feel. It makes him so tired that it seems like all he wants to do is just sleep for a decade.

It takes a while before Crim finds something to say to him. “I dunno,” Crim tells him honestly. “I dunno what to say to you. There’s just… So much shit. I dunno where to start.” After a short moment of hesitation, Slick places the tray on his side table, knocking down the few items that previously laid on top of it. He sits up in the bed, legs hanging over the edge, facing Crim. There’s little space between them, enough that, if he wanted to, Slick could reach out and touch him. He doesn’t though, much as it looks like he might be considering it.

“Can I…” He cuts off whatever he was about to ask, falling quiet for a moment. His eyelights linger on Crim but not for long. “I want to apologize,” Slick finally says, eyelights now following the movements of his fingers as he rubs them together.

“I’m not sure it’s going to help the situation, Slick,” Crim responds honestly. “I think we’re past an apology now.”

“It can’t really hurt it either.” He has no idea where Slick is getting all this energy from or how he can somehow organize everything that happened into one coherent idea of what to do in the aftermath. Crim just feels confused and tired and helpless. He’s no closer to finding a solution now than he was a day ago.

He shrugs a shoulder, and Slick leans forward ever so slightly, taking it as a sign to continue. Crim doesn’t bother stopping him. _Maybe_ , he thinks. _Maybe it’ll help._

“I…” Slick opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Crim doesn’t push for anything and he hates that tiny part of him that is actually a little disappointed that Slick can’t seem to find an easy way to fix this mess between them either. “I actually don’t know what to say all of a sudden,” Slick finally says sheepishly. It takes him another moment before he continues. “Maybe we _are_ past apologies… but that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry. I know I hurt you.”

“I hurt you too,” Crim counters dully. Again, he’s sure he should be feeling _something_ when saying that but there’s just… Not really anything that sticks. Either that or there is _too much_ that sticks and he doesn’t know what to really feel first.

“It’s okay, I deserve it.” The emotionless way it’s delivered makes something stab into Crim’s chest. It’s a sharp feeling that quickly gets buried under the jumble of other feelings battling for his attention, but it manages to annoy him.

“Stop fuckin’ doin’ that,” Crim says tiredly. “Yeah you fucked up, but ya don’t deserve people treating you like your emotions don’t matter. I should have listened to ya. We should have talked instead of all this other shit.” When Slick says nothing in response, Crim continues.

“Most stupid thing is, I was comin’ back.”

“You were?” he says, the muted surprise in his voice almost painful to Crim.

“Yeah, Muffet beat some sense into me. I was gonna come talk.” He lets that hover in the air between them.

“Wow, yeah? Huh.” He pulls on a tight smile in the face of the silence Crim treats him to. “I’ve got uh, I’ve got some famously shit timing then, huh?” His nervous laughter is almost grating, and the sound of it stirs something in him, striking sparks in something hollow. Fear creeps in between his ribs and he’s suddenly much too aware of how close he’d come to losing Slick forever.

“You just- ya can’t do shit like that,” he finally says, the words almost tripping over each other as they tumble out of his mouth.

“I know.” The answer comes too fast and it annoys him. It sounds too practiced, like Slick is just answering automatically, and he probably is, having dealt with his brother on his back for years. Despite that, it’s not difficult to see the shame in him. Slick turns to look away, head ducking and shoulders pulling up around his neck. He looks down at his hands hanging between his legs and watches them curl around one another. After a moment, his expression turns dark with guilt.

It makes Crim duck his own head, catching Slick’s gaze. He refuses to let him retreat into whatever mental hideout he seeks comfort in when shit gets tough. “I don’t think ya do,” Crim tells him. “I don’t think ya get what I’m tryin’ to say here.” Slick looks away again.

“You’re not allowed to repeat my Stars-damned mistakes, a’ight?” His voice wobbles, but it still doesn’t make Slick look at him again. He doesn’t see Crim fight against the magic pulling together in his sockets.

“You can’t-” His voice breaks and he takes a deep breath, eyes closing to force back his tears. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so emotional, because he doesn’t feel like crying. He still feels empty inside when he thinks about how close it had been, how close he had been to losing him. “Ya can’t just fucking try to kill yourself like that,” he says quietly, voice tight. “You’re so important to these guys- You’re so _important_ -” He cuts himself off, the words getting stuck in his throat. Why can’t he just say it? Why is it so _annoyingly difficult_ to get the words out of his mouth? Why is he crying?!

That finally makes Slick look up at him. “Hun…” He says nothing else, but he reaches a hand out, offering comfort. Crim stares at it for a second, conflicted. There’s nothing he would rather do than sink into Slick’s warmth and hug him right now, but there’s a _pain_ stabbing at his soul when he thinks about it. Fear edges its way into his chest and he’s afraid of being weak again. So instead of moving to the bed and letting Slick pull him close, he just takes the hand and holds it.

Slick grabs onto it instantly and squeezes it tightly. The other comes up to wipe against Crim’s cheek, drying away the tear that escaped.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but Crim feels no relief at hearing it. It’s just as empty as his other words, just as practiced and Crim _doesn’t know what to do._

There’s a small tug at his arm, a silent question to come closer, but when Crim doesn’t move, Slick does instead. He slides off the bed and walks on his knees until he’s sitting between Crim’s legs. His arms close around Crim, and slowly he’s pulled into a hug.

The light, almost questioning pressure around Crim’s body soothes something in his chest, lights the kindling under the horrible void inside him and ignites it. Feeling his insides twist and burn, his hands come up to grab onto Slick’s arms by themselves, and Crim lets his head drop down so he can hide his face in the soft material of the other’s shirt. The smell of laundry detergent is the first thing that hits him, but the scent of Slick is prominent beneath it, heavy and potent in the fabric. Crim breathes it in deeply, hoping it will help him regain his cool. He doesn’t like the feeling of the cotton under his eyes turning wet, knowing that he’s crying without understanding why.

He feels a gentle brush on the side of his head, and there’s an all but nonexistent tingle of the other’s magic as Slick kisses him so softly that Crim’s throat closes up instantly. He squeezes his eyes together and looks away when Slick lets his chin rest on Crim’s shoulder. Slick’s only response to Crim turning away is to hug him closer.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” Slick whispers, his words tingling against Crim’s neck. “The whole situation was just so… disorienting. I couldn’t understand what was going on, everything was happening so fast. I saw you sitting on top of Sans and this- this _pit_ in my soul just opened up. I was so scared - for me, for Sans… For you.”

He breathes in deeply. “I… I don’t even know why I reacted like I did. I guess I just never thought that Sans would- that he even _could_ do…” There’s a pause. “That he was able to be like that. Never crossed my mind. But then you looked at me with this- this _disappointment_ , like I just ripped your soul in half and I couldn’t understand why. Didn’t realize my mistake before you were already gone and… I was so scared that would be the last time I saw you. I thought you’d gone back home.”

“I tried,” Crim admits quietly, letting his words appear in a soft whisper. He can’t find anything else to say, and he doesn’t force it. He lets the silence grow between them until it feels like it’s suffocating him again.

“It’s a shitty excuse, I get that,” Slick says after a while. “Poor, stupid Papyrus, so fragile he can’t even face his own mistakes.” Slick makes a sound in the back of his throat that kinda sounds like a snort. “I just had to get away. After you left that night I couldn’t stand looking at Sans. Every time I did I felt so _angry_ . It was-” he cuts himself off and breathes in slowly. “It _is_ his fault,” he says with more force, like he’s convincing himself, “and that just makes me feel even worse, because I _should have seen the signs_ . I _know_ what he’s like when the anger gets to him. I should have known that he was about to snap. I’m his brother and I had _no idea_ what was going on. I was too fucking busy wallowing in my own misery.”

“Love makes you blind,” Crim comments, his voice rough and flat. How many times had he made the same mistake with his brother? Never seen the signs, never realized his sibling was hurting before the kid got himself into trouble. How many times did Papyrus stumble home with a broken bone and tears streaming down his face, angry at the world for being so cruel, for making no sense? Too many to count.

And what did Crim do? Shout at that small, scared child and called him stupid for putting himself in danger. _“I can’t fuckin’ protect you all the time! It’s time to grow the fuck up before you get your stupid ass killed!”_ Instead of comforting his brother, he’d just gone out to get drunk so _he_ could forget how much the world sucked, leaving the kid at home to deal with his mistakes. He had completely missed the fact that his brother had jumped into a fight he had no chance of winning for that very same reason.

It’s no wonder Crim’s Papyrus ended up being as fucked up as he is. He’s so damned scared of making mistakes that he does everything in his power to make sure he can’t fail, that nothing goes wrong. _Especially_ when it comes to Crim. And fuck, if that doesn’t reignite Crim’s self-hatred. If he had only realized this a few months ago, he might never have ended up here. He could have spared both his brother and Slick so much hardship.

“I don’t wanna forgive ya,” Crim admits in a quiet whisper. He feels Slick stiffen. “‘Cause I’m scared.”

“Of what?” Slick asks back in the same quiet tone.

“Of bein’ blind.” Crim leans his head to the left, not quite snuggling closer, but just pressing his face to Slick’s arm. He can’t explain it any other way.

“I’m sorry,” Slick says after several minutes of thinking. He tightens the hug carefully, slowly, waiting for Crim’s reaction. “I know it’ll never be enough to make up for what I did, but it’s all I got. I’m sorry I fucked up and I promise I’ll try to be better in the future.”

What can Crim even say to that? He doesn’t know. _He doesn’t know_ . His head is spinning and his soul is too full of constricting emotions and he can’t _think_ . Part of him wants to just forgive Slick and forget it ever happened, but another equally big and insistant part of him is telling him to just _leave_ , get out before he gets hurt even more. That Slick doesn’t deserve a second chance. But can he really fault him for making mistakes Crim once made too? Can he fault him for not knowing how to react, for being ignorant? Crim _knew_ how terrible things were with Slick long before he ever realized that he lo- that there was something between them.

“I can’t go through this again,” he whispers. “I just can’t Slick.”

“No, no, please. Just-” Slick pulls back so they can look at each other, and Crim can easily read the fear on his face. “Just give me a chance babe. I can be better.”

“You promised Blue the same thing,” Crim says sullenly, and the effect of the words on the other is profound. Slick seems to lock up around Crim, his mouth partially hanging open without a sound.

“I don’t care about the drinking, Slick. We do stupid shit when we’re hurtin’ and it ain’t like I’m innocent in this shit either. But just leavin’ like that? Not telling us where you were, makin’ us worry? I don’t do drama like that. I can’t stand bein’ helpless like that.”

When all Slick does is sit there petrified, Crim fills the horrible void of silence himself. “I nearly killed myself lookin’ for ya. Drained every fucking drop of magic I had, but it didn’t fuckin’ matter. I couldn’t find you. And when Alphys told me to just stay put and wait out the storm I felt like I was dyin’. I felt like such a Stars-damned failure. It was _my fault_ you were out there and I couldn’t do shit to save ya.”

“I’m so-”

“Stop!” he yells in response to those two words, hating them, hating the _emptiness_ they carry. He looks away from Slick’s pained expression, breathing heavily before he continues in a softer tone. “Just... fuckin’ stop sayin’ that.” There’s a few beats of silence between them before he speaks again. “I don’t wanna be hurt again.”

“But you will, huh?” Slick says with such quiet but overwhelming bitterness that it causes Crim to look up. When he does, he finds the other looking away with one of those strained, plastic smiles. “Nah, you’re right; I can’t promise I won’t mess up again, because I will. I’ve never been anything close to perfect - hell, I’m a basket case of terrible decisions. My track record is awful, and I guess I wouldn’t believe me either if I said I could do better.”

There’s a pathetic laugh followed by a small shrug.

“But,” he says in the next breath, “I want to make this work. I can at least promise to let you know what’s going on, I can promise to be honest with you, because I want _this._ I want _you,”_ he says, his hands gently cupping Crim’s cheeks. The touch burns with the tenderness of the gesture, but Crim can’t bring himself to look away from the intensity of Slick’s gaze. _“You,_ because you make me want to try to be somebody more _,_ because you thought I could and I just… I don’t...”

As Slick falters, Crim doesn’t miss the terrified vulnerability in his eyes before lets himself be pulled back into the hug like some kind of rag doll, his cheek coming to rest in the warm crook of Slick’s shoulder like it belongs there. The automatic comfort he gets out of the action tears at his soul.

“Was… is it just wishful thinking?” Crim hears Slick mumble thickly. “I don’t want this to end here because I messed up again, not after…” Slick seems to choke on the words. ”But, uh, but if it sucks that much, I get it. It’s, uh, it’s… a lot. I’m a lot, I get that, and if you want, you can walk, and… fuck. Just tell me,” the words come out in a gasp as Slick breaks down, followed by a partially muffled sob into the shoulder of Crim’s hoodie. “Just tell me so I can stop _trying_. I don’t want you to go,” he says, voice cracking. “But it’s better than being some… some trap. I don’t wanna end up another obligation to someone, so please just… please,” Slick begs, and Crim can feel the arms around him trembling.

“I… I…” He wants to say something, _anything_ to make that horrible pain in Slick’s voice go away, but the words curdle in his mouth. His tongue twists around them when he tries to speak and they come out as empty air with no sound. He doesn’t know what’s stopping him, but he feels a heaviness settle in his soul when his mind runs through Slick’s words again, repeating them over and over in an endless, sickening loop.

The desire to _fix_ the situation is almost overwhelming, but Crim holds himself back, confused at his own reaction. He shouldn’t want to just fix whatever this is, shouldn’t want to fix _Slick_. He's ashamed at his own knee jerk reaction for a brief moment, cursing himself for wanting to just slap a band-aid on the situation and call it a day. He wants to soothe Slick's pain, but just telling him what he wants to hear isn't going to fix anything in the long term. It's just going to make things more complicated between them and they will be right back here soon enough. So instead of giving in to the feeling, Crim sinks into his thoughts with a deep sigh, shifting in his seat to accommodate for the tighter hug and the sobbing face embedded in his shoulder.

He was so sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this was what he’d wanted the other night, and now? When he tries to process all this, much less the future it invites, his mind churns like sticky tar at the possibilities. He can barely think without having to push through the glaze trying to harden between every stuttering thought.

It’s hard, it’s Stars-damned _hard_.

...But this is what he was signing up for yesterday, wasn’t it? Being with Slick isn’t just easy jokes and amazing sex. It’s not just funny texts to brighten his day, movie nights and working on projects together. He has always known Slick had issues and that those issues needed patience and work to overcome. They need _time_ , time he doesn’t-

And that’s where Crim’s thoughts screech to a halt because he’s _always_ been living on borrowed time in this universe. Even though he thought he had given up on going home awhile ago, there’s still some _hope_ sticking to his soul. It’s the same hope that now struggles to stay alive, because…

Because being with Slick is a long term thing. It’s not a choice he can easily change, not something that should be taken lightly. And Crim is scared because he _wants it so much_ . For months he has walked around with this ridiculous crush of his, imagining them together. What he hadn’t realized was that at some point, those fantasies he had? They’d turned from just sexual into something _more_. They’d turned domestic, full of hugs and comfort and slow lovemaking sessions. At some point, Crim had started to want a relationship, but relationships mean a commitment that he can’t give if he’s still looking for a way home.

That’s where it all breaks for him and he feels that tiny shred of hope disintegrate. He thought he had already lost it, but losing it now feels even more final than it did when he was breaking down and sobbing into Slick’s shoulder. Because being with Slick is a promise, and even if he hadn’t said as much that fateful night, he had still promised, in some way, without even considering all this. He doesn’t know when it had happened, but at some point, Slick had become more important than returning to his own world.

A loosening of the hug and the soft sounds of fabric rustling jostle him out of his thoughts. Slick finally pulls away, looking pointedly away from Crim’s face as he does so. He looks as exhausted as Crim feels, with dim, pinprick eyelights and fresh tears leaving visible tracks down his face. He turns away, leaning against the side of the bed for the moment as he scrubs them off with the back of a sleeve.

“Okay.” Slick says, staring blankly at the sheeting covering the mattress. The word comes off as damning despite the absence of feeling in it. Slick sniffs deeply and unsteadily pushes himself back up and onto the bed, flopping onto the most readily available flat surface. He misses the pillow entirely, but the pathetic, half-hearted way he curls up on himself with his back to Crim makes his stomach lurch.

His soul almost breaks at the sight and shit, Crim wants to fucking cry in frustration when he realizes what his silence must have meant to Slick. Something ugly and vile twists in his gut and scares the crap out of him when it shows its face. Crim can't pinpoint what it is exactly but it spreads from his belly and through his body when he just sits there and looks at Slick quietly sobbing, trying desperately to hug himself. He doesn't know how to word all this turmoil inside him, doesn't know how to explain… But he knows that he can’t just sit here and _watch_ as Slick suffers. He has to at least try.

The bed sinks under his weight when he crawls onto it. It takes some careful maneuvering because there’s barely any room for him, but he eventually slides down next to Slick, who only reacts by growing quiet and stiff. There’s no reaction as he reaches his arms around Slick’s chest, digging them under the fingers already clutching at the hoodie and pulling him close. Unsure of what else to do, Crim buries his face into the extra hood material bunched up around the back of Slick’s neck.

There’s a few more seconds of rigid silence from Slick before he shudders and chokes out a loud sob. It continues into the next with a wheezing gasp, rattles into a breath, and then bleeds out in a litany of bodily hitches as the sobbing rekindles with a volume equal to its wretchedness.

It fucking hurts to listen to.

"You ain’t a burden." The words slip out of him. His throat is closing up around them, and they almost get stuck. He whispers the words into the fabric he is hiding in and all he can do is hope that Slick hears them because he's not sure he's able to repeat them. But they _burn_ in his chest, in his soul and he feels like be might actually dust if he doesn’t get them _out_ . “I don’t wanna let ya go either,” he admits, his voice weak, “but I dunno how to _fix_ this. I-I ain’t used to this and ya gotta give me time to think. I can’t just- This ain’t something we can solve right this second.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “Ya get what I’m trying to say?”

He doesn’t get an answer at first and the silence scares him, because Stars damn it, he wants to _fix it_ , he wants to make things work but he _can’t_ and it fucking sucks. He doesn’t want to give Slick empty promises and just rush through this, because he deserves to be treated like his actions matter, both good and bad and why can’t Crim just fucking make that obvious? Why does it have to be so damn hard to speak?

“Slick, babe-” his endearment makes Slick sob harder and Crim curses himself. “You gotta listen to me. I-I’m trying my best here but I don’t wanna just give ya empty promises,” he tries to voice his thoughts. “This is a really fucked up situation and we gotta talk it through. We gotta be adults here for a sec and actually make choices we can live with.” Crim pauses to give Slick a moment to speak, but all he hears in response to his words are more sobs. “Can you please turn around?” he asks, desperate to have Slick hear him.

“W-why?” comes a half-choked, whispered question. Slick sniffles and moves his arms, probably trying to dry his face.

“Because you’re kinda breaking my heart here, darlin’,” Crim answers, “and I would really like to hug ya properly.”

It’s a slow reaction, but Slick does eventually turn around. He moves almost cautiously, keeping his eyes downcast and looking at Crim’s chest instead of his face. Tear tracks paint his cheeks and his sockets fills with a fresh batch when Crim softly rests a finger under his chin and lifts it up, making their eyelights meet.

Crim tries a smile, just a soft little thing. The tears spill over and Slick clenches his sockets closed, turning his head away.

“S-stop being so nice to me,” he begs.

“Can’t,” Crim responds. “It comes with the boyfriend title.” That only makes the tears come faster and a new series of sobs tear out of Slick. All Crim can do is wrap his arms around him and let him cry against his shoulder, desperately clinging to his hoodie.

“Slick, you listenin’?” he asks after a moment to collect his thoughts. He gets a small nod in return.

After a slow intake of breath, Crim says, “I’m still royally pissed at ya, don’t think for a second I ain’t. But whatever the hell we got here, I like it. And…” He pauses briefly, struggling with the words and what they mean. “...I wanna save it,” he finally manages. A sudden rush of emotion follows his admission. It feels _right_. “But I’m gonna need time to process and think, a’ight?”

“I- I don’t wanna b-be just another b-b-” Slick struggles getting words out but Crim knows what he’s trying to say.

“You ain’t a burden,” he responds harshly, repeating himself. “Ya ain’t a trap and ya ain’t an obligation. You’re a wonderful guy and ya just need some help once in awhile, like we all do. So stop those thoughts right now. They ain’t good for ya.”

“B-but why would y-you wanna deal with my shit?” Slick asks brokenly. “I d-did something _horrible_.”

“Yeah,” Crim agrees, “ya did. But I’ve done horrible things too.” He pauses, an image of him sitting on top of Blue flashing past his inner eye, dark, red magic swirling around them. When he continues, his voice is much softer. “I lost my fuckin’ head and I almost did somethin’ I’d regret,” he says. “I shouldn’t have let Blue provoke me like that. I shoulda just walked away.”

“D-don’t make excuses for him,” Slick snaps angrily, looking up. “Sans did this.”

Crim shakes his head slowly. “M’not,” he responds. “We’re all to blame. Blue started it, I continued it and ya finished it. None of us is without blame here, sweetheart. It’s why I’m saying we gotta talk this shit through. We gotta be better than we were before so it doesn’t happen again.”

There’s another sniff, and Crim can see Slick trying to reign in the tears a bit… or think. The way he screws up his face makes either option a possibility at this point. “But why? You- y-you were…” He trails off as a breath hitches in his throat, one short step from dissolving into another sob. _“Why?”_

“I’m gonna need a little bit more than that, sweetheart,” he says softly.

Slick looks more than a little uncertain, his grip on Crim tightening marginally as the guy’s dim eyelights try to burn a hole in his chest. There’s a few deep breaths before he starts again. “Uhm, you weren’t- I-I don’t...” Crim can feel the fingers burrowing into the material on his back like Slick is trying to root him here. “W-why’d you change your mind?” he says, voice quiet and painfully fragile. He doesn’t look up, and Crim can feel him shaking a little, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“Change my mind about you?”

Slick nods against his chest.

Crim takes a deep breath, using it to cover his hesitation. “I just… figured out the difference between what’s important and what I can live with.”

It doesn’t seem to reassure Slick any; there’s a soft sound of confusion from the face hiding in his shirt.

“Shit.” When what he wants to say isn’t immediately forthcoming, one of the hands resting on Slick’s back comes down to lightly rest on the back of the other’s skull. “I dunno how to explain this so it makes sense... but I’m gonna try.” His thumb makes tight circles on the back of Slick’s head. “You just… Ya gotta give me a moment to think, a’ight?”

It ends up being a long moment. He struggles to put together some kind of coherent explanation, but trying to corral is thoughts into anything coherent feels like slogging through wet mud.

“I thought,” he starts, his voice grating as he tries to push out the words, “there was nothin’ more important than gettin’ back home. But… but then you disappeared and I realized that maybe this place actually had somethin’ of value to me, somethin’ that maybe grew to be just as important to me. And maybe it was stupid throwin’ that somethin’ away for… yanno, the short shot at gettin’ home.”

He feels himself mentally recoiling a little at how terrible that was, and he takes a moment before he keeps going, trying to figure out how to say what he means without fucking it up further.

“I know that sounds fuckin’ weird to say because we got _one night_ together total but I dunno… It just feels like we’d… That there’s- there’s _something_ here that’s worthwhile.”

“That you’re worthwhile,” he continues, and Crim feels Slick press his face into his chest, trying to stymie a new bout of tears. “You ain’t just somethin’ to entertain me while I search for a way back and that didn’t really hit home until all this shit happened. I never really thought about, ya know, the big _us_ and what that means. Not until now. So I guess the easy answer to it all is… that you did. _You_ changed my mind. Because I think you’re worth the effort of tryin’ to make this work... if you’re willin’ to do the same.”

Slick’s sobbing starts up again, muffled into his chest, and Crim worries at first that something he said might have gotten lost in translation anyway despite the care he’d taken. But this time they’re quiet and subdued, without the raggedness and twitching accompanying the desperate sounds from earlier. He isn’t sure what to make of that, really, but the fact that the noises coming from the other seem less broken is a marked improvement.

He keeps thumbing reassuring circles into the back of Slick’s skull and holding him as close as he can, letting him ride this out. He remembers being on the other side of this, with Slick holding him close and how good it felt to have those arms wrapped around him, cheek pressed close to the other’s soul. It was safety and structure, something solid holding him together when it felt like he was falling apart. He’s said his piece and doesn’t know what else he can do, but he can at least offer Slick that same comfort.

For a long time, he does nothing else. Minutes of relative silence pass by with Slick’s quiet sobbing keeping time, and he just keeps holding the other as he cries, hoping it’s enough. His eyelights are actually starting to unfocus when a sudden sharp sniff breaks through the unsteady rhythm of Slick’s weeping, cutting it off altogether. The absolute stillness and quiet that follows makes him nervous - he’s not sure Slick is even breathing for a second or two.

“Ya doin’ okay there, sweetheart?” he asks with worry tinging his voice.

Slick clears his throat before looking up. “I want to try.” His voice is watery but there’s conviction in his tone.

“A’ight,” he says. “Then we’ll figure things out. We’ll be okay.”

Some part of him wants to keep talking now that he has started. It’s like a pressure inside his chest, building and building and he wants to just let it spill. But one look at Slick changes his mind. The dark circles under his sockets and the pale greyish tint of his face are more than enough to tell Crim Slick is beyond exhausted, but even if that wasn’t enough, the tiny, barely there flicker of white eyelights in his sockets would be. The desperate sobs and quiet whimpers only stopped minutes ago and he can’t imagine what the turmoil of the last few days must be doing to him or where his thoughts are taking him. If he feels anything like Crim, then the confusion is spinning him in circles, making it almost impossible to figure out what’s up and down.

Maybe that’s what finally makes up his mind. They have all the time in the world to talk and it doesn’t have to happen right this second, despite him wanting nothing more than to push past this situation and get back to a point things aren’t so complicated. They both need rest and time to think, and perhaps it’s better to talk when they’re not in danger of passing out in the middle of the conversation.

“Sleep.” The word is accompanied by a nuzzle and a soft kiss pressed to the other’s forehead. There’s a shuddering inhalation from below at the gesture, and he can feel Slick move about him, weakly trying to curl around Crim’s body as if to capture him. “I’ll be here when ya wake up. Promise.”


End file.
